Echoes
by Lil black dog
Summary: This is an immediate sequel to "Call of Duty," and a companion piece to "The Awakening." Kirk and Spock find themselves stranded 2,000 years in Vulcan's past. Spock is racing against time to make repairs to the shuttlecraft, their only means to return to the future, before a mysterious infection claims Kirk's life. The Big Three, ensemble cast, TOS
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is an immediate sequel to "Call of Duty," and a companion piece to "The Awakening." Kirk and Spock find themselves stranded 2,000 years in Vulcan's past. Spock is racing against time to make repairs to the shuttlecraft, their only means to return to the future, before a mysterious infection claims Kirk's life. The Big Three, ensemble cast, TOS.

It will stand on its own, but will be a richer story if the events portrayed in those two pieces are fully understood.

This is complete. I promised myself when I started writing fan fiction five years ago that I would never start to post chapters of a story I hadn't finished. I'll be uploading a new chapter every day or so.

**Echoes**

**Chapter One**

"Physically, he seems fine to me, at least that's what my instruments tell me. But you know Spock, Jim—he wouldn't complain even if there _was_ an issue."

They were in Kirk's quarters, sharing a nightcap after a relatively uneventful day. It had been five weeks since Spock nearly lost his leg due to a snakebite on a wild, unexplored planet. McCoy had completed his final reconstructive surgery on the Vulcan's thigh eight days ago, and cleared him for workouts yesterday as all trace of the limp that had plagued the science officer for the last month had disappeared. It marked the first time Kirk could really breathe in weeks.

"The real test was how the leg would perform under the stresses of everyday life. Along those lines, how'd things go in the gym today? I sure as hell won't be able to get Spock to tell me anything besides 'I am fully functional, Doctor,' as if I'd just swapped out defective, malfunctioning parts on a service android. I'm a doctor, not a glorified mechanic," McCoy declared hotly, thumping his chest.

Kirk grinned at his CMO's flagrant feelings of disgruntlement with the literal-minded first officer. "We started slow, and took things easy, but he still managed to outmaneuver me in those Vulcan martial arts he's been teaching me. I was hoping I'd have the advantage for once, but I got the distinct impression that he was holding back physically as usual, in spite of his leg. I wound up on my backside more times than I'd care to admit," Kirk replied sheepishly. McCoy merely nodded.

"I watched him carefully for signs of pain, weakness or tenderness, but didn't notice any." The captain raised his glass, saluting his CMO. "Here's to a job well done, Bones—last week as well as last month. But so help me, if you ever pull a stunt like that again…" The grin spreading slowly over Kirk's face served to counteract somewhat the acute bite of panic he'd felt on that day. Had things played out differently he could have easily lost them both. Dealing with the emotional ramifications of such a loss was manageable most of the time, but when he was alone, and got to brooding…

More than anything, the captain was simply grateful that both his friends had come through the ordeal with their lives and limbs intact. The unsung hero in all of this was Christine Chapel; Kirk had been sure to put her in for a commendation for the part she had played in pulling both men through a risky medical procedure that had had the potential to go horribly wrong.

"Yeah, well, that'd be a helluva lot easier if you two could manage to keep yourselves out of trouble," McCoy snapped instantly, his craggy features melting into a frown. "And don't give me that 'who, me?' look. If you keep this up, there's gonna come a time when I can't put one—or both—of you back together again, and trust me, that's a day that's gonna make me want to throw away my shingle and become a transporter technician, and we all know how much I love _that_ little miracle of technology."

Kirk snorted in spite of himself. "Then you need to yell at Spock, not me. I've told him several times now that I can take care of myself—"

"And that's the part you don't get, Jim—much as you like to pretend otherwise, you aren't indestructible, and neither is Spock." McCoy's eyes were flashing with an uncontrollable passion. "You insist on acting first and thinking later, and Spock sees it as his duty, hell even his God-given right, to protect you from yourself. Every time you do something reckless—and let's not kid ourselves, you can be reckless to a fault—you're just begging him to react, to find a way to keep you from harm, even if it kills him in the process."

"I can't damn him for his loyalty, Bones," Kirk observed darkly as guilt swooped in to blot out the indignation of earlier.

McCoy was just as angry, with both of his friends. "No, but if you really value his life you can think twice before you decide to march in where angels fear to tread, knowing that he'll follow you into the Ninth Circle of Hell without any regard at all for his own safety. It's a pattern with him, especially where you're concerned." A beat, as pale eyes zeroed in on Kirk's. "You _do_ realize that, right?" the doctor asked skeptically.

The captain absorbed that statement in silence. The hazel eyes, more gold now as they sparked with ire, flicked to the wall above his CMO's shoulder. Kirk drained the remnants of the strong alcohol in his glass, savoring the slight burn as the annealing fire tickled the back of his tongue, the warm glow spreading as the potent liquid dribbled down his esophagus. That astute observation, and stinging accusation, triggered some uncomfortable soul-searching. Risking his own life was one thing, but putting the Vulcan in harm's way as well—intentionally or not—was unconscionable. Kirk had chastised his first officer on several occasions in the past for just such a transgression, but it marked the one area where Spock was likely to disregard his orders and "go rogue," fulfilling what the Vulcan perceived as his only logical course of action. Spock was not in the habit of randomly disobeying direct orders, but he seemed to have a hard-wired bypass switch where this matter was concerned. Kirk found it unacceptable, regardless of the situation, and fought to squelch his frustration, willing himself not to display it in front of the doctor.

"That didn't come into play in this case, Bones, and you know it," Kirk argued stubbornly, almost petulantly. "I wasn't doing anything reckless or dangerous. I can't help it that a poisonous snake I didn't even see took umbrage with my presence on its turf—it could have happened to anyone in the landing party—but I can—and did—take Spock to task for using himself as a Vulcan shield on my behalf." It still made him mad. Since touching briefly on the subject while Spock was recuperating in sickbay, the Vulcan had permitted no further discussion of the matter. No, to be honest, Spock had done his best to avoid the conversation at all costs.

"No, I agree that it couldn't be helped this time, but it sure as hell was an issue when you decided to fly the _Constellation_ down the throat of that planet-killer knowing our transporter was on the fritz, or when you decided to let Sargon 'borrow' your body, and took Spock and Doctor Anne Mulhall along for the ride," McCoy threw out, refusing to be intimidated. "We nearly lost him that time, Jim. Your choice, not his."

"And Spock is just as guilty sometimes, as are you," came the rapid-fire rejoinder. "Seems to me, you both volunteered to fly the shuttle into that giant space amoeba," the captain added, more than a little irritated, and clearly on the defensive.

"Don't go changing the subject, Jim," McCoy shot back testily. "Besides, that's bullshit and you know it. We had to find a way to kill that blasted thing before it reproduced. God only knows how much destruction it would have wrought, how many more billions of lives would have been lost if we'd had an exponentially increasing number of those things running loose, sucking the life out of the galaxy."

"Just as it was necessary to find a way to destroy the planet-killer before it reached the most populated section of the galaxy," Kirk countered with a wry grin. "It wasn't my fault that someone had to be aboard the _Constellation_ to fly her down its throat, but I sure as hell wasn't going to order someone from my crew to do it."

"Touché," McCoy conceded. "I'll give you that one, but you know what I mean. Don't go asking for trouble. It has a knack for finding you two all on its own, without either of you lending a helping hand."

_That's what I'm hoping to accomplish on this mission; it should give me the time and opportunity to force a discussion of this martyr complex with Spock, and order him to cease and desist,_ Kirk thought silently. "Duly noted, Doctor," he opined aloud, meeting McCoy's disapproving scowl levelly. "I'll give that recommendation all the consideration it is due." To his credit, Kirk screwed on his best contrite, thoroughly chastised look.

McCoy harrumphed loudly before draining his glass as well. "I'll believe that when I see it," he remarked, no trace of humor permeating the stony visage. "And now if you'll excuse me, Captain, sir," he stated, rising to his feet, "I've got to complete my requisition forms, and you and Spock have an early date with a Vulcan diplomat."

"Yes. Yes we do," Kirk agreed, standing as well. "We'll see you in twenty-four hours, Bones. And try not to worry so much. We can take care of ourselves," the captain threw out, hoping to dispel the surgeon's misgivings with a disarming grin.

It had no effect on the CMO. "In a pig's eye," McCoy muttered under his breath as the doors to Kirk's cabin swished closed behind him.

oooOOOooo

**Captain's personal log, stardate 4357.9. The ship is currently en route to Starbase Four in order to pick up needed supplies and undergo minor repairs. ETA is 07:00 tomorrow, and it has come to my attention that a member of the Vulcan Diplomatic Corps will be stranded at that location. The **_**Potemkin**_** was to return him to Vulcan, as well as ferry back some important diplomatic documents to Starbase Four, but was called away on an urgent mission at the last minute. The papers will be sent on to Earth once the next diplomatic shuttle arrives at the base in two days. The information contained within them was deemed too sensitive to risk transmission over subspace, where the contents of the documents might be intercepted and decoded by our enemies, and as they are time-sensitive, making them available at Starbase Four for eventual transfer to Earth will eliminate the extra time that would be needed to go all the way to Vulcan and retrieve them.**

**Since Vulcan is only four hours from Starbase Four at warp two, I was tasked by Command to complete the mission via shuttlecraft during the **_**Enterprise's **_**thirty-six hour layover. **

**As much as I hate to play courier I jumped at the chance. I must admit to an ulterior motive. Commander Spock was severely injured last month, coming close to death as a result. It is my intention to have him pilot the shuttlecraft to Vulcan. Once there, it will give him a chance to visit with his parents and help to ease their minds as to his physical condition. Over this past year I've come to realize just how fragile life is out here among the stars; how tenuous the grasp is, and how easily it can slip away at any moment. **

**I know there is some ongoing tension between Spock and his father, and that his mother worries about him. Part of me is certain I'm doing the right thing, while part of me keeps telling me to mind my own business, as I'm likely to put my foot in it just as I did when Spock's parents were guests aboard the ship. **

**Turns out this mission is just the excuse I was looking for. I made some calls, cashed in a few favors, and we'll see if my efforts pay off. The wheels are in motion; it's just a matter of getting everything coordinated on such short notice. I know Spock himself would never make the request to visit his parents while we're planetside, and I know if I suggest it he'll view it as an order at best, and meddling on my part at worst. It's something that needs to happen in my opinion, but unfortunately my first officer can be most reticent about such things. **

**And yet, this is not my only ulterior motive. Dammit! My life is not more important than his, and I need to find a way to make him understand that. A little piece of me dies with every life I lose under my command and while this is something I would never admit to him, I don't know how I would face it if he were the one to lose his life, especially if it was my fault.**

**Since our initial talk in sickbay when Spock first regained consciousness, he's been avoiding my attempts to discuss the events of last month's mission with him; it's as if he knows how I feel about it, but Spock's a stickler for adhering to his own personal code of Vulcan ethics.**

**In a way McCoy's right—it would go against Spock's nature not to follow my orders, in every instance but this. I need to make my position clear to him; it's just a matter of finding the proper approach—and venue—to do so. I really can't damn Spock for his loyalty, but need to find a way to address this issue that won't seem like a reprimand, either professionally or personally. **

Kirk switched off the recorder. Loyalty to a commanding officer was part of Spock's psyche, as evidenced by his returning the severely disabled Christopher Pike to Talos IV where the former captain of the _Enterprise _would be able to live out the rest of his life unfettered by his broken body. To admonish Spock for something that was innate to his personality didn't seem right, and so he had chosen not to do so, at least not formally. He knew intellectually that Spock wasn't intentionally disobeying him, but viscerally it was a different matter. He intended to put an end to it, regardless of Spock's thoughts on the subject, but finding a method that wouldn't ruffle nonexistent Vulcan emotional feathers was proving to be more difficult than he'd anticipated.

Over the last month it seemed to Kirk that Spock had been adroitly deflecting his captain's offers to share meals, play chess or otherwise socialize, agreeing only when these events would take place in a public setting—the mess hall or one of the rec rooms—a place Spock knew would not be suitable for such a discussion.

In this case though, Spock would be unable to refuse the order to pilot the shuttle to Vulcan, and he'd have no choice but to discuss the matter during their return flight.

Kirk smiled to himself as he slipped beneath the covers of his bunk. His first officer could be stubborn to a fault, but so could one James T. Kirk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Kirk arrived on the bridge two hours before alpha shift was to begin. Spock was already on-station, speaking quietly to the communications officer.

The captain stepped down to the center ring of the bridge and addressed the gamma shift navigator: "Mister Hadley, ETA to Starbase Four?"

"We're scheduled to arrive in twenty-eight minutes, sir."

Kirk turned to find Spock at his elbow. "I have been in contact with Starbase Four, Captain. Tivan, an attaché attached to the Vulcan Diplomatic Corps, has been informed and is prepared to beam up to the ship upon our arrival."

"Excellent. I'm starved. Care to join me in the Main Mess for some breakfast before we leave?"

"That would be most agreeable, sir."

As the two climbed the stairs, Kirk stopped beside the communications station. "Mister Farrell, page us when we're two minutes out. I want to be in the transporter room to greet Mister Tivan when he arrives. Also, contact the hangar deck and make sure the _Galileo_ is powered up and ready to depart."

"Aye, sir," Farrell responded as Kirk turned and headed for the turbolift, the Vulcan a step behind him.

oooOOOooo

The four-hour trip had been uneventful. Not much for casual conversation, Tivan worked alone in the aft compartment, using the time to complete some last-minute addendums and changes to the treaty he was drafting. The captain and first officer made good use of the time as well, hammering out some personnel assignments and transfers, perusing the list of scheduled repairs at Starbase Four and completing routine weekly reports to be filed once they returned to the ship.

In no time at all they were in orbit. Spock contacted Vulcan Space Central for landing instructions. They were cleared to use the small government spaceport located at the Diplomatic Compound in Shi'Kahr as opposed to the civilian one found in a neighboring city, a good 60 kilometers distant. Glancing out the viewports at the red sky, Kirk felt his throat constrict, his hand unconsciously brushing his chest. This was his second trip to the surface of Vulcan. The first one left a bad taste in his mouth, peppered with memories he'd rather forget. Reflexively he tugged at his collar, dropped his hand and cleared his throat when he noticed Spock stiffen beside him out of the corner of his eye. His first had not been back since that inauspicious occasion, either. Kirk fervently hoped the sense of discomfiture would be short-lived, for both of them.

The voice on the comm unit sliced cleanly through his thoughts, helping him to focus on the present rather than dwell on the past. "Galileo, _you are cleared for final approach_."

Spock toggled a switch. "Acknowledged," he answered evenly, no trace of his distress from moments earlier present. Both men became absorbed in the task at hand, working together to expertly maneuver the small vessel above the tall, elegant buildings of the ancient city and finally setting it down in an open field at one end of the gated complex.

As the doors to the shuttle opened, they were greeted by T'Paya, the senior diplomat present. She was flanked by several members of her staff. Tivan stepped to the fore, raising his hand in the traditional Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper, T'Paya," he intoned respectfully.

"Peace and long life to you, Tivan, and to you as well, gentlemen," she said, her gaze shifting to include him and Spock. "You have done us a great service. Tivan is coordinating a time-sensitive treaty with the Loquarians, and any delay would have proven disadvantageous to a peaceful resolution to the conflict on their world."

"It was our pleasure to be of assistance, ma'am," Kirk answered politely.

"And now if you gentlemen will follow me, there are some forms which need to be completed before we can release the documents to you that are to be transferred to Starbase Four," T'Paya informed them, gesturing toward the building behind her.

"Certainly, ma'am," Kirk replied affably as he and Spock fell into step behind her. They headed for the entrance to the building, the few members of T'Paya's staff bringing up the rear.

It took Kirk's eyes a few moments to adjust to the darker interior of the diplomatic headquarters. It seemed the muted red lighting Spock often preferred in his quarters was the norm for all establishments on Vulcan. As they exited the short, narrow corridor which led from the courtyard where they'd landed, they found themselves in a vaulted reception hall of sorts, comfortable chairs, sofas, and tables scattered about the room. What struck Kirk was the economy of form and material. Everything had a purpose. Much like the Vulcan people themselves, there were no extraneous items, no pieces present only for show. That's not to say there wasn't artwork or decoration, but none were opulent and fit seamlessly with the composition of the room.

They crossed the open space and started down another hallway, replete with wooden doors that opened into other rooms and offices. T'Paya's aides dispersed as they walked, leaving them to attend to other duties.

As they proceeded along the corridor, another figure approached from the opposite direction. She was the first to verbally acknowledge the connection. "Spock?!"

"Mother."

Their group came to a halt as Amanda reached them. "I honestly didn't expect to see you here, but I must admit it's a most pleasant surprise." Kirk watched, mesmerized, as she gave his first officer the equivalent of a hug using nothing but her eyes. It managed to make Spock look slightly uncomfortable. "Your father is away on business on Coridan. Since I'll be joining him tomorrow, this office contacted me earlier today and asked if I would deliver some new information to Sarek regarding his current mission. Naturally I agreed; such are the duties of a diplomat's wife." Lines of confusion now appeared on the matronly face. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but what is your reason for being here? Has there been an incident of which I'm unaware?" she asked her son. "It's not every day that a starship pays a visit to this planet."

Spock looked askance at Kirk, who nodded his consent. "Currently, the _Enterprise _is undergoing a thirty-six hour layover at Starbase Four. As Tivan was stranded at that facility and was urgently needed here, we were tasked with returning him via shuttlecraft."

"I see. Captain, it's a pleasure to see you again," she remarked, her warm gaze settling on Kirk.

"Ma'am, I assure you the pleasure is mine." He flashed her his most charming grin and inclined his head slightly.

"Lady Amanda," T'Paya interjected, "since you are not scheduled to depart until tomorrow, it would honor me if the three of you were to remain and have lunch with me.

"Thank you, I'd be delighted."

"Captain?" T'Paya asked, turning to Kirk.

He eyed his first officer carefully. Spock returned the gaze levelly, his body language indicating his tacit approval, as well as a warning that it might be considered rude to refuse given the stature of the woman making the request. Not that it mattered. Kirk had made up his mind yesterday. Rank had its privileges.

"I don't see where that would be a problem." The documents they were to courier to Starbase Four weren't scheduled to be collected until late tomorrow. A delay of a few hours wouldn't impact that deadline. "I'll just need to contact my ship, ma'am; notify them that our timetable has changed and give them the updated ETA for our return. Unfortunately, I have to use the comms system on the _Galileo_—we're out of communicator range."

"If you would prefer, you may use the comms set in my office."

"Thank you, ma'am, but only if it's not an inconvenience."

"Please Captain, I insist. Svonek will escort you," she informed him, signaling to one of her aides at the opposite end of the hallway with the wave of a hand. "I, on the other hand, shall notify the chef that I will be having guests for lunch. Please," she said, turning to Spock and his mother, "make yourselves comfortable until the meal is ready." She indicated the couches and chairs in the lounge. Spock and Amanda moved off.

Once they had departed, Kirk and T'Paya exchanged a surreptitious look, his almost imperceptible nod of thanks the only message that passed between them. There were just too many sets of sensitive Vulcan ears in the building to risk saying anything out loud. Kirk smiled to himself. Who said the average Vulcan was without feelings?

"Please take the captain to my office," she instructed the young man when he arrived. "He wishes to communicate with his ship."

"At once, Madam Secretary," Svonek remarked. "Captain, if you will follow me, please," he asked, collecting Kirk with a nod.

T'Paya's office was on the second floor. Svonek opened the door and ushered Kirk inside. "The subspace radio is in the communications alcove in the rear of the room," he said, leading Kirk to the area in question. "I shall wait outside to escort you back downstairs when you are finished." The young Vulcan motioned the captain through the door and pulled it closed behind him.

The captain seated himself at the desk and dialed in the ship's unique frequency. "Kirk to _Enterprise."_

"Enterprise, _Lieutenant Uhura here_."

"Lieutenant, we've been…uh…unexpectedly delayed. Estimated time of departure is one to two hours from now. ETA to Starbase Four is five to six hours."

"_Understood, Captain_."

"Is everything proceeding according to schedule there?" He just couldn't shake the need to micromanage, no matter how competent he knew his people to be.

"_Replen ops and the minor repairs are underway, under Mister Scott's supervision. The majority of off-duty personnel are enjoying R&R at the base._"

Kirk chuckled. "But not you."

He could hear the grin in her response. "_How often do I get shore leave, sir?_"

"You and Spock—you're both incorrigible workaholics." His tone grew more serious. "You're entitled, you know, Lieutenant. Don't look a gift leave in the mouth."

Her response was soft, musical laughter, rippling like chimes on the wind. "_Don't I know it, sir, but I want to get my instruments calibrated and updated first. I don't often have the chance to do that, either, when the ship's underway._"

"Well, carry on then, Lieutenant, but don't take too long. I expect to see you relaxed and rested when we get back."

"_Aye, aye, sir. I'll be heading down as soon as I'm done here._"

"Understood. We'll notify you once we're underway.

"_Just be aware, sir, that at some point, the comms system will be offline for about half an hour or so when I install the updates_."

"Acknowledged. If we can't raise you when we leave, we'll try again later. Kirk out." He turned off the device and made his way to the door.

As promised, Tivan was waiting for him. The two exited T'Paya's office and moved in the direction of the Spartan wooden staircase. Glancing over the railing to his left, Kirk noted that Spock and the Lady Amanda were sitting together on an overstuffed sofa, speaking softly to one another. T'Paya was standing off in a corner, deep in conversation with another aide. The young woman hurried off, seemingly to do her boss' bidding.

Not wanting to impose on the mother-son reunion, Kirk drifted to the other end of the room, chatting amiably with the knot of personnel congregated there.

He was just starting to enjoy himself, wondering offhandedly if the young woman to whom he was speaking was unattached, when Svonek approached again.

"Pardon the interruption, Captain, but T'Paya wishes me to inform you that lunch is ready. This way, please," he said, making for the hallway where they had first encountered Amanda.

Saying his farewells to the woman in question, he turned to follow his guide. Spock and Amanda were already seated at the small table in a modest conference room when he arrived. More private than the commissary, he reasoned as he slipped into a chair.

All in all it was an enjoyable meal. He wasn't much for vegetarian cuisine, but the dishes had been spicy, and surprisingly delicious. Conversation had been spirited, but decidedly neutral. Before long it was time to say their goodbyes.

Spock rose to his feet, prompting the others to stand as well. "I shall go and prepare the _Galileo_ for the return flight." He turned to their hostess. "Madam Secretary, I wish to thank you for your hospitality. Live long and prosper," he added, his hand shaped into the traditional 'V' that accompanied the words.

T'Paya raised her hand as well. "Peace and long life to you, Spock, son of Sarek."

He shifted his gaze to Amanda, hands now clasped loosely behind his back. "Farewell, Mother. Safe journey, and please convey my greetings to my father." Once again he raised his hand in the familiar salute.

Amanda answered with a warm smile. "I shall. Live long and prosper, Spock, and T'Paya, you have my thanks for a most pleasant afternoon," she added, returning the gesture.

The senior diplomat dipped her head in acknowledgement. Spock excused himself, departing without a backward glance.

T'Paya turned to Kirk. "And now, Captain, if you will follow me—" she began.

"If you please, may I borrow the captain for just a moment?" Amanda asked, her eyes searching T'Paya's face.

"By all means. Captain, I shall wait for you outside," she said as she made her way to the door and closed it softly behind her.

"How may I help you?" Kirk asked as his eyes traveled to Amanda's face. He couldn't stop the intermittent flutter of panic that took up residence in his gut.

"Thank you, Captain."

"Jim, please. And for what?" Kirk asked, a feigned look of detachment pasted to his face. Yep, this was headed precisely where he didn't want it to go.

"Really, Jim," Amanda replied, beaming as only a mother could. "I know that in his own way Spock is relieved that I've been able to see for myself that he is fully recovered from his ordeal, but I also know it's not a typically Vulcan gesture, or sentiment, that brought him here."

"No, it was Starfleet orders, ma'am," he interjected smoothly, hoping to convey an air of indifference, and innocence.

She smiled knowingly. "Be that as it may, I still think it was a wholly human notion, designed to ease the mind of his worried mother. And rest assured, it worked. Thank you for being Spock's friend, and for being considerate enough to be so accommodating. Any competent helmsman from your crew could have brought Tivan home. Only you could have made sure it was Spock, and only you could have ensured that he stayed for a visit. If Spock had been the ranking officer, he would have felt duty-bound to return at once; would never have requested permission to indulge in something that was important only to me…or to him." Mischief sparkled in her eyes. "So, thank you, Jim."

Suddenly he felt very warm. He opened his mouth to protest, to provide an answer that wouldn't make his decision seem so transparent, but the twinkle in her eyes said she would believe none of it. He found himself grinning. "You're welcome," he answered instead, escorting her to the door.

oooOOOooo

"Thank you, Captain."

They'd left orbit twenty minutes ago, conversation ebbing along with the light from Eridani. Kirk had been focused inward, still stuttering and stumbling over the proper approach to use for the other issue currently dominating his thoughts. The Vulcan's deep baritone startled him out of his silent reverie. "For what, Mister Spock?" he asked slowly, suspiciously. Good Lord, could everyone see right through him today?

"My mother was…pleased, and appreciated the gesture."

"What makes you think I had anything to do with it?" The fluttering began again in earnest. He cursed silently; control of the situation was rapidly slipping away from him.

"As I am not one given to believing in serendipity, it is logical to assume that she and I were brought together by something other than chance." A beat. "Or someone." The look in Spock's eyes spoke volumes; said more than he would ever permit, or admit, with mere words.

Kirk weighed his response carefully. He knew better than to attempt to deny everything to the Vulcan. He'd been caught. Again. It seemed perspicacity ran in the family. "You're welcome," he managed finally.

"But I sense this rather 'fortuitous' meeting was not your only reasoning behind volunteering for this mission." The Vulcan's tone grew serious. "What is troubling you, Jim?"

Kirk grinned sheepishly in spite of himself. "Is it that obvious?"

"I sense disapproval, and uncertainty as to how to broach the subject. Most unusual for you," the Vulcan supplied matter-of-factly. An eyebrow climbed expectantly toward his hairline.

Kirk shifted in his seat. Spock was not going to make this easy. "Well, uh, yes there is something I've been meaning to discuss with you," Kirk began.

"And that would be, sir?" Again with the eyebrow.

"How's the leg?" he stammered. He just needed a few moments to collect his thoughts.

"Jim." The smile was there in the tone, even if it wasn't on the Vulcan's face. "I believe the answer to that question was evident during the course of our workout yesterday morning. No, I surmise this has to do with the events that transpired on Theta Epsilon Prime last month. However, it was my understanding that we had already 'closed the book' so to speak, on that matter."

The anger was back; images of the Vulcan falling like a stone chased away any reluctance to castigate his first. He worked to maintain his composure. "Yes, we have already discussed the topic. I just want to make sure the message was received loud and clear; that you understand it's not your duty to protect me at the expense of your own life," Kirk supplied, his words short, clipped, the fury barely in check.

Somehow, Spock managed to look affronted by the accusation, even though his face continued to exude a stoic, maddening calm. "I fail to comprehend the reason behind the allegation, particularly when you have engaged in precisely the same behavior on my behalf."

Kirk blinked. He didn't know what he'd expected Spock to say, but it definitely wasn't _that_. "Really? And when would that be?" he asked, his tone skirting the edges of incredulity.

"Trelane, for one," came the smooth reply. "You chose to permit him the first shot in a duel, rather than allow him to shoot at me. As the weapon was only capable of firing once without reloading, this would have afforded the other members of the landing party the opportunity to attack and subdue him. Had he not fired over your head, he most assuredly would have killed you, whereas being unfamiliar with my anatomy I calculated the odds at only 13.3% that anything other than a head shot would have proved fatal in my case."

"I was playing a hunch, Spock, and it paid off." Kirk found himself verbally backpedaling. Why the hell was he the one suddenly on the defensive? He scrubbed at his chin, meeting the reproachful stare. "I knew there'd be no sport in it for him if he simply killed me outright. And I was right." He locked eyes with the Vulcan, leaning forward slightly, hands now splayed across his knees. "As I recall I destroyed his power source and the landing party was able to return to the ship."

"Agreed, but this only managed to bring forth his ire. He did recapture you, and only the intervention of his parents prevented him from killing you."

Kirk scowled at the Vulcan, the muscles along his jawline twitching, but deigned not to answer. In this instance silence just might be the better part of valor.

Spock continued, undaunted. "The Denevan parasites, for another. You risked yourself by prying the creature from my back with your bare hands, not knowing whether it had the capacity to sting again, but knowing full well that it could kill."

When they beamed down to Deneva initially, they hadn't known about the creatures; just knew that they had found Kirk's brother dead. Only later did they learn that the gigantic one-celled organisms had been the cause.

"I wasn't about to stand by and do nothing; watch you suffer, Spock."

"An admirable, but questionable choice, Captain. Had the creature infected you, odds are it would have killed you before we discovered the means to destroy it."

Kirk sighed in frustration, raking a hand through his hair. "As opposed to your actions when you took those poison darts for me on Gamma Trianguli VI?" he countered in a clumsy attempt to sidestep the accusation. "You watched Hendorff die when he was hit, and yet you still decided to use yourself as a Vulcan shield." He favored his first with an exasperated look. His tone became contentious. "Nope, that wasn't risky at all." His anger was snowballing, despite his best efforts to contain it. "Mind explaining that leap of logic to me?"

Spock's face went totally blank—a tactic he often employed when trying to disguise a purely emotional reaction. "As I stated at the time, Captain, it was not my intention to—"

Kirk cut him off with the wave of a hand. "Save it. We both know that's a load of horse hockey, as McCoy would say."

An eyebrow rose swiftly. "I was not aware equine were able to function on ice, let alone use equipment requiring—" Spock started smoothly, clearly on the offensive.

"Look, don't get smart with me, Mister." Kirk's voice lowered to an almost inaudible growl, the one he used when he was at his angriest. Spock was trying to push his buttons, twist things to the Vulcan's advantage. Kirk wouldn't let him. He emptied his lungs in a protracted, silent sigh.

Spock chose to ignore the comment, continuing to build his own case. "And what of the Kal-if-fee? You agreed without fully understanding the nature of the combat, all in an effort to prevent me from engaging in a physical altercation with Stonn. Had McCoy not been with us on that occasion…" The Vulcan's voice trailed off, his gaze dropping to his hands folded neatly in his lap.

Kirk's anger immediately evaporated. Despite the fact that he and Spock had resolved that issue between them months ago, as evidenced by their reactions earlier today aspects of that singular event still continued to haunt them both. Gently. "But Spock, that isn't the point—"

"It is precisely the point, Captain," came the calm, collected response. "You accuse me of arbitrarily risking my life on your behalf, and yet you are guilty of precisely the same behavior on my behalf—"

Before the Vulcan could finish the thought, a proximity alarm began squealing insistently as the small craft shuddered and bucked, tossing both men to the deck. Spock recovered first and crawled up the chair at the helm hand over fist. Kirk was not far behind, falling into the seat to the Vulcan's right.

"Enemy ship?" Kirk snapped, struggling with the controls.

"Negative," Spock replied immediately, eyes locked onto the sensor readout. "We are caught in the gravitational pull of a small, rogue black hole," the Vulcan announced serenely, as if he were merely citing the ETA to their current destination. His fingers moved rapidly over the console before him, slamming the engines in full reverse in a desperate attempt to break free of the immense gravitational pull before they were sucked across the event horizon.

"Will firing the boosters help?" Kirk snapped, his finger hovering over a large, blue button on the right-hand side of his console.

"At the moment our choices are extremely limited," Spock replied, his voice still at its most calm, which only served to emphasize the magnitude of the situation.

Without hesitation Kirk engaged the boosters. Both men were thrown back into their seats as the G-forces climbed to unhealthy levels. Kirk struggled to remain alert and aware, but the world began to fade to darkness around him as if the walls in a cylindrical tunnel were shrinking about him.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: And now begins the portion that is the companion piece to 'The Awakening.' That story is now told from the POV of Kirk and Spock as opposed to the unknown young boy. The ensemble cast of TOS will start to feature in the story.

**Chapter Three**

Kirk opened his eyes to the blood-red glow of emergency lights, obscured by a thickening cloud of lung-crushing smoke. His face was wet and sticky. He reached up to touch it, his fingers coming away smeared with crimson. "Spock!" he groaned, unsure if he'd spoken aloud or only in his mind.

Suddenly a face materialized in Kirk's field of view, hovering just above his. "Captain. Jim," it said as Kirk rolled onto his stomach.

"My head's killing me, but other than that I can't complain," Kirk replied in response to the Vulcan's unasked question. "You?" he prompted.

"Aside from some minor contusions I am uninjured," Spock replied. He then began crawling toward the shuttle's door. "However, we must vacate this space with all due haste, lest the vessel explode." Climbing to his feet, the Vulcan thumbed the switch, opening the hatch. The smoke immediately began pouring out through the breach and the stifling nature of the atmosphere within the shuttle eased slightly.

Kirk struggled to rise on wobbly legs, but would surely have fallen had the Vulcan not grasped him about the waist, tugging a gold-clad arm across the narrow shoulders. As one, the two moved toward the safety of the vessel's exterior, Spock settling his captain on the ground twenty meters or so from the damaged craft.

Kirk immediately stretched out on his back, a wave of vertigo crashing over him as if he'd suddenly found himself dangling by his ankles from a great height. His head was throbbing. "Rest, Jim," the Vulcan instructed, his voice uncharacteristically tight. "I shall be back momentarily." He rose to his feet and headed for the smoking hulk.

"Spock, don't!" Kirk called after him, the sound of his own voice ricocheting through his skull with blinding speed, but his first officer was gone, the blue-clad back disappearing through the open hatch.

Kirk struggled to raise himself to a seated position, but the world pitched violently as he did so. _Must've hit my head harder than I thought_. He gingerly lowered himself to a prone position once again.

He closed his eyes, willing himself not to be sick. He lay that way for some time before a soft voice startled him as a hand closed on his upper arm, exerting more force than he expected.

"Captain…?"

"I'm okay, Spock, just a little shaken up. Status of the shuttlecraft?"

He felt a prickle of satisfaction as the Vulcan slipped into professional mode once again. "I have extinguished the fire, and the navigation, communication and propulsion systems are all intact. Warp capability is offline at the moment, but I should be able to effect repairs."

_Effect repairs? Why? Are we too far out of range to be able to call for help?_ He was about to ask for clarification from the Vulcan, but once again, Spock's voice shifted slightly. "Your head wound is bleeding, Captain," the Vulcan informed him. Kirk felt his head gently lifted, blood carefully wiped from his eyes as sure hands cleaned and bandaged the cut. "Unfortunately the sole medikit the craft was carrying did not include a tissue regenerator. Without one, I have no way to seal the laceration." Kirk's head was settled gingerly into the Vulcan's lap. A scanner whirred above him and a hypo hissed against his arm. The throbbing in his skull lessened somewhat, as did the nausea.

"I have detected no broken bones or internal injuries, but you have suffered a con—"

Without warning Spock's attention shifted. He began speaking in his native tongue. Kirk's first impulse was to question his second-in-command, but a warm hand settled on his shoulder. "An unexpected situation has arisen which requires my attention, Captain." Kirk felt himself eased to the ground as Spock climbed to his feet.

The incomprehensible discussion went on for several minutes. Sensing danger, Kirk instinctively did his best to remain still and non-threatening. Something was wrong, but what? Just where were they? He couldn't recall any inhabited worlds between Vulcan and Starbase Four. In fact, he was certain there were no bodies—asteroids or otherwise—in the vicinity with a class M atmosphere, yet they were able to breathe on the surface of wherever this was, and Spock was clearly speaking to someone. But why? How? If he could just work it out, but his thoughts were still in a fog, jumbled, disjointed, his temples pounding in time to the beating of his heart.

The conversation between Spock and the mysterious stranger ended with the scrabble of feet on stone, the footfalls receding hurriedly as they echoed off the rock walls around them.

"What was that all about? Are we back on Vulcan?" he asked as Spock dropped to his knees beside him. "You were speaking Vulcan, but it must be an archaic form I'm unfamiliar with. I couldn't make out any of it and it seems my translator implant was damaged in the accident."

"You are correct, Captain, we are on Vulcan, somewhere in the L'langon Mountains." Spock paused ever so slightly. "I recognize the terrain."

Kirk was puzzled. "But not where, or more specifically _when_, you expect us to be," he said, trying to reason it out. "If we were on present-day Vulcan there'd be no need for you to repair the shuttle on your own—we'd be able to call for help, or better yet rescue parties would already be en route, and you wouldn't have to use the ancient tongue to be understood. So," he asked with certainty, "just _when _are we?"

"At present, I am uncertain of the exact date. Based upon what our young visitor told us, I would estimate approximately 2,000 years in the past, sometime before Surak's Reformation."

"Young visitor?" Kirk had not seen the child.

"Affirmative. A young boy stumbled upon the crash site. Evidenced by his clothing and the fact that he was armed, I surmised this was not present-day Vulcan. Additionally, the star patterns are off, consistent with how the constellations must have appeared two thousand years in the past."

"And tangling with that rogue black hole caused all this?"

"It is not unprecedented, Captain. It is similar to the circumstances which caused us to wind up in the latter half of Earth's nineteenth century one point four solar years ago, or consistent with the technique we used to go back in time to witness firsthand historical events from the year 1968."

Both of those instances had nearly been disastrous. Seen as a "bogey" in the skies of Earth of the twentieth century, aircraft of the time had attempted to blast the _Enterprise_ from the heavens. In order to prevent killing him, the pilot of the closest craft had been beamed aboard as his plane was crushed like a tin can by the _Enterprise's_ powerful tractor beam. Unwilling to take the chance that his glimpse at the future might cause the pilot to inadvertently or even intentionally alter Earth's history, it had been decided that the man could not be allowed to remain in his own time, but would need to return to the future with the _Enterprise_ and her crew. Only later did they discover that one of the pilot's children, yet to be born, would provide a significant contribution to Earth's history. In light of that a way had been worked out to return the pilot with the knowledge of the future expunged from his mind, and a method to use the gravitational pull of the sun to slingshot them back to their own time had been formulated.

Eighteen months later they had used the same technique to go back in time and observe a critical missile launch, its failure carefully orchestrated by Gary Seven, an emissary from a more advanced race known as the Assigners, who was sent back in time as well to prevent a catastrophe which would have negatively impacted Earth and its inhabitants. Had things played out differently, the result of that launch might have been to embroil the world in a nuclear war. It helped both of the planet's superpowers at the time restrict their nuclear arsenals in an effort to avoid another such scenario in the future.

"Can we get back?"

"Uncertain at this juncture. Everything will, of course, be contingent upon being able to repair the warp engines. Without warp power it will be impossible to use the optimum velocity generated by escaping the pull of Eridani's gravity to create a time warp which will propel us into the future. We shall be trapped here—strangers in a strange land.

"Also, we have never attempted to do so in such a small craft. There is every possibility our vessel will be crushed by the gravimetric pull of the Vulcan sun before we are able to attain escape velocity."

Kirk's head was throbbing again, and the chill in the night air was starting to affect him. "And we can't remain here. The longer we do, the greater the chances of us doing something that will irrevocably change Vulcan's future." His mind was made up. "Then we need to see about making repairs immediately." He sat up, willing the world to stop spinning, and clamped his mouth shut to prevent his teeth from chattering.

Attempting—and failing miserably to Kirk's mind—to hide his concern, Spock slipped an arm around his captain's waist and helped him to his feet once again. Kirk found that he was grateful for the warmth wherever the Vulcan's body was in contact with his.

"If the evidence is correct, and we are 2,000 years in my planet's past, then we need to get you inside, Jim. People will understand on sight that you are not of this world, and at this point in time, Vulcans have no experience with extra-terrestrials."

The two headed for the safety and shelter of the shuttle. "What about the boy? What if he raises the alarm? Comes back with help?" Kirk asked suddenly.

"Based on our discussion I do not think that is likely. In any case I shall begin repairs immediately. But should the child return with assistance, it is my belief that I can 'bluff my way' out of the situation, as long as they are not made aware of your presence."

"You, bluff Spock?" Thoughts of the Fizzbin incident on Sigma Iota II left a metallic taste in his mouth, the taste of failure. Spock had no inkling of how to bluff during that episode. "I didn't think you had it in you."

"You forget, Jim, I have learned by watching the master as it were." He deftly changed the course of the conversation all the while steering Kirk toward the rear of the vessel's interior. "Come," the Vulcan continued, lowering Kirk onto a wall-mounted cot in the shuttle's aft compartment, "You have suffered a minor concussion. I have given you the proper medication to prevent hemorrhaging and swelling, but you must rest now."

As inviting as it was to sink into the softness and give himself over to oblivion, Kirk fought the impulse with every fiber of his being. "Can't," he mumbled, trying to swing his legs to the floor, "we've got work to do." The last thing he remembered was Spock's hand closing on his shoulder.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

He found himself on the bridge. He'd left that sweet little cantina, and that even sweeter little dancing girl who was wearing a skin-tight purple dress and had bells in her carrot-colored hair. It had all the makings of an evening to remember, but an unexplained sense of unease had caused him to beg off dinner and return to the ship. He'd expected to hear from Jim by now, even if the captain were unable to join him. Unfortunately, the man tended to be married to his work, and odds were with the ship in spacedock for minor repairs, Kirk was bound to be right in the thick of them.

He stopped by sickbay first for a detox shot and to make sure there weren't patients in the ward suffering from an "excess" of shore leave, but instead of returning him to his quarters once he'd completed his rounds, his feet had brought him here.

He surveyed the room from the relative obscurity of the turbolift. The helm and navigation consoles were unmanned, and while a young ensign in science blue was seated at Spock's station, the scanner was uncharacteristically quiet, no pulsing whir or muted blue light emanating from the hooded viewer. The young lady was poring over data that flashed by on the viewing screen, furiously scribbling notes here and there on a PADD.

A junior officer from Scotty's department was manning the engineering post, eyes fixed on a readout on the screen above, quietly relaying that information to someone on the other end of the comm unit while his fingers played expertly over the console.

The center seat was likewise occupied by a lieutenant from the command track, but it was just a formality. While in spacedock, command of the Constitution-class cruiser was a titular title at best, but there had to be someone available to make decisions and handle those crises that arose, such as they were, when the massive ship was essentially powered down.

McCoy turned to look at the communications station, relieved to finally see a familiar face. Despite the fact that her shift was over and she should be fully in the midst of a rare opportunity for shore leave, Uhura was busy at her console, humming softly and doing calibration checks on her instruments. He sauntered over, clearing his throat noisily.

She glanced up and plucked the silver earpiece from her ear. "Why, Doctor, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" she asked, eyes twinkling with mirth. "I didn't expect to see you back from shore leave so soon." The smooth brown face became creased with motherly concern. "There hasn't been an injury or illness, has there? I've not heard anything over the ship's channels—"

"No, nothing like that," he interrupted lightly, grinning as well. "I was just wondering when Jim and Spock got back. I really expected Jim to join me, or at least call and say he couldn't make it," he added softly, almost as an afterthought.

"As far as I know they haven't returned, yet. The captain called in a while ago and said it would be five to six hours before they returned, but I've had nothing over my channels since and haven't been asked to notify the hangar deck that a shuttlecraft is incoming. I had to shut the comms system down for about half an hour to install critical updates in both software and hardware, but it's been back on line for close to four hours and still no word from them. I thought about calling them, but—"

At that moment the turbolift doors slid aside, depositing a disheveled Scotty on the bridge. The chief engineer had been working round the clock since they arrived, coordinating repairs and overseeing the requisition of needed supplies. "Lieutenant," he began, heading toward Uhura and the doctor, "what's the ETA for the captain an' Mister Spock's return?"

"As far as I know, they're still on schedule, sir, but they haven't checked in yet. The captain did give a window of plus or minus one hour during which they're expected to arrive, and we haven't reached the end of that time period yet." Her eyes flicked to the chronometer at her station as her agitation mounted. "There's still twenty-three minutes left."

"But you haven't heard from them since Jim's initial transmission almost six hours ago?" This from McCoy. "They haven't checked in at all yet? That's not like Jim, and it's certainly not like Spock. That man's as predictable as Halley's Comet." He looked to the Scotsman, tugging nervously on an ear.

"Try an' raise them, Lieutenant," the chief engineer instructed, cupping his chin in his fist.

"Aye, sir," she answered immediately, her fingers dancing over her console as if tapping out the strains of an alien melody on a keyboard. "_Enterprise _to _Galileo. _Come in _Galileo_." She paused, glancing up at the third-in-command. "It's no use, sir, they aren't responding."

"Is there a chance they aren't in the shuttle? Haven't left Vulcan yet?" McCoy asked, his concerned gaze drifting from one face to the other.

"I tried their communicators as well as the shuttle's subspace radio, in case they are en route and having comms issues with the _Galileo's_ system, but they wouldn't be in communicator range until they're ten minutes out."

"Then where the hell are they?" the doctor wanted to know.

Scott narrowed his eyes. "Let's find out, shall we? Lieutenant, get me Vulcan Space Central."

oooOOOooo

"I am sorry, Jim but you are in no condition to assist me, and odds are if the boy does return with reinforcements, they will choose to attack or confront us tonight under the cover of darkness, therefore it is imperative that you remain inside and out of sight."

Spock pulled a blanket from a storage compartment, settling it gently about his friend. The scanner reappeared, the Vulcan frowning slightly at the readout. While the drug he had given his captain earlier was already starting to heal the concussion, Kirk's blood was currently showing an increase in white blood cell production—a sure sign that an infection was beginning to take hold. Spock snapped a different vial of medication onto the hypo and once again pressed it to Kirk's arm. It was not the strongest of antibiotics, but the only one currently in his arsenal. He then added a mild sedative as the hypo hissed for a third time. Jim needed to rest, and he was unsure how long the effects of the nerve pinch would last. Hopefully the combination of rest and the antibiotics would serve to keep the infection at bay until—or if—they could make their escape.

In an unguarded moment of tenderness he gazed affectionately at the sleeping form, readjusting the blanket, a hand settling briefly on a broad shoulder. Satisfied that there was nothing else he could do for Kirk at the moment he made his way to the forward compartment. Opening the weapons locker he retrieved a phaser, set the weapon on a wide stun pattern and affixed it to his hip.

A plan was already beginning to take shape. If others came across the crash site, intentionally or otherwise, his first line of defense would be to stun them. Once they were unconscious he could use Vulcan mind techniques to wipe all knowledge of the shuttle and its occupants from their minds and place them half a kilometer or so from this location. When they awoke they would remember nothing of why they had come or what they had seen, and would feel an irresistible compulsion to return home at once.

He began a more thorough assessment not only of the engines, but of the database as well in hopes of getting a more definitive answer as to _when_ they were. A calculation contingent upon the relative positions of numerous celestial bodies provided the information he sought: they were indeed in Vulcan's past, two point zero one five millennia to be exact, twenty-five years before Surak would spend his time meditating in the desert, coming away with the answer to prevent the mass extinction of Vulcan's populace.

At this time his people were little better than barbarians, ruled solely by their passions and engaging in frequent skirmishes and turf wars between the numerous tribes, each one seeking dominance over the others with an eye to ruling the entire planet one day. Unbeknownst to them, if not curtailed it would lead to their ultimate demise, and the destruction of Vulcan society as a whole.

Killing was always abhorrent to him, but now it became paramount that he harmed no one while they were stranded here, or in no way intervened on another's behalf. Any person he came in contact with had the potential to be instrumental during Surak's reform. If he were to influence that in some way, and if it were not to happen, he did not wish to speculate as to the fate his planet would suffer.

And yet, preventing the death of anyone with whom he came it contact entailed its own set of pitfalls. They had seen firsthand how McCoy's unintentional act of kindness in saving Edith Keeler when he had inadvertently traveled to Earth's past had led to the ultimate destruction of the future as they knew it. No, he would have to be extremely cautious, indeed, and severely limit if not prevent altogether any contact with individuals living in this time. The very fate of his planet, and that of the galaxy at large, could depend on his actions.

With that in mind he gathered the diagnostic equipment he would need and headed outside to do a more complete evaluation of the warp nacelles. The sooner he started, the sooner they could leave and hopefully avoid any unforeseen complications that could jeopardize the future as they knew it.

oooOOOooo

Vulcan Space Central had confirmed their worst fears. The shuttle had been cleared for departure four point seven hours ago, and planetary sensors confirmed that the craft had escaped Vulcan's orbit, heading for deep space on a trajectory consistent with a course bound for Starbase Four.

Scott had asked for any readings indicating the vessel had somehow been sucked back into the planet's gravity and crashed or burned up in the atmosphere, but the agency's instruments confirmed that no such event had transpired. He immediately set the _Enterprise's _sensors with the task of sweeping the area between Vulcan and Starbase Four for signs of an explosion or debris, but those readings turned up nothing as well. There were no indications of warp or ion trails from other vessels, which ruled out the possibility the _Galileo _had been captured or destroyed by enemy fire. It was as if the ship had simply winked out of existence.

It was maddening.

"Blast it all, Scotty, a whole ship can't just disappear," McCoy fumed, causing the newly-minted ensign manning Spock's sensors to jump. "They must be out there somewhere and we're just missing them." He chewed his lower lip. "If they left Vulcan well over four hours ago they should be back by now."

"Mister Scott, could they be off course due to instrument failure?" This from Chekov, who had returned fifteen minutes ago and was seated at the navigation console. He'd been checking to see if there was space debris, jets of harmful radiation or other unforeseen phenomena that might have caused them to deviate from their expected flight plan. The turbolift doors opened to admit Sulu, the last member of the alpha bridge crew to be pressed into service. He slipped hurriedly into his seat.

"Aye, lad it's possible, but we're limited as to where we can aim our sensors while in spacedock." He turned to Uhura. "Lieutenant, I want ye to recall all personnel from shore leave. Have all maintenance crews wrap up what they're currently doin' an' stand down. I want the ship ready to warp out in half an hour."

"But Scotty, we're here for repairs. Command's not going to let us leave until those are complete, right?" McCoy asked. He was already angry, just itching to pick a fight, and deskbound paper-pushers were one of his favorite verbal punching bags.

"Leave that to me, Doctor. The ship'll be ready to leave in half an hour if I hafta get out an' push, an' there's no bureaucrat alive who'll be able to stop me.

"Lieutenant," he said, turning to Uhura, "get me Commodore Wolfe one the line, an' pipe it down to my office. Sulu," he added, now addressing the helm, "get the engines warmed up, an' be prepared to depart on my signal." Scott spun on his heel and set off determinedly for the turbolift.

"Aye, Mister Scott," the young Asian replied. The deck shuddered slightly as the massive ship's engines were coaxed to life under his experienced fingers.

McCoy caught up to the Scotsman just as the doors swished open. "Wait up, Scotty, I'm going with you."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Okay, the last two chapters were fairly short, and I'm not usually one for the update-once-a-day format, so I've added this chapter today, too. :D

**Chapter Five**

Sunlight was just beginning to peek over the canyon's rim, its first tentative rays insinuating themselves between the clefts and crevices along the top edge of the rock wall. Slim fingers of reddish-gold were lengthening on the valley floor below, sucking the moisture from the numerous small puddles that dotted the landscape. It was a welcome change. Last night's storm had come upon Spock rapidly and unexpectedly, its severity and intensity forcing him to abandon his evaluation of the exterior damage and retreat to the safety of the interior of the craft. While hampering his efforts to begin repairs to the warp nacelles, at least the storm had kept the accidental visitor, or those who might be poised for some form of retaliatory strike, at bay.

Now the chill and dampness were retreating, swept aside in the face of Eridani's inexorable trek into the red sky. He had worked through the night, ascertaining and mentally cataloguing what materials he had on hand in order to determine their usefulness. He'd also kept a weather eye on his friend's condition, blasting the sleeping form with another dose of antibiotics several hours ago, but the level of bacteria in the captain's blood continued to increase rather than diminish. Kaiidth. He could not afford to dwell on that. The singular problem that required his immediate attention was getting the shuttle spaceworthy and using it to return to their own time. Once they were back on the _Enterprise_ he could let McCoy manage the infection. He estimated Kirk had an additional four point eight days before the illness would claim his life. If Spock could not complete the repairs within that timeframe, the point would become moot.

He was now beneath the vessel, removing those engine parts that were damaged beyond repair, when a voice startled him.

"That wasn't exactly playing fair, Spock."

He'd been expecting this. Jim was not one to lead from the sidelines, but it was imperative that Spock find a way to convince him that he must do just that in this case. He slid out from under the vehicle, brushing the red dust from his regulation trousers as he regarded his senior officer, framed in the shuttle's doorway. "I trust you are rested, Captain?"

Kirk's look was a mixture of burning accusation and grudging respect. "Not my first choice, but yes." He held Spock's gaze for a few moments. "You want to explain what that little 'incident' was all about?" Kirk asked, kneading his shoulder where the Vulcan had pinched him. "I realize that the average Vulcan of this era hasn't seen an extra-terrestrial before, but you didn't need to knock me out to get me to stay out of sight."

"But it was necessary in order to allow you to rest, sir; to give your body a chance to recover from the concussion you suffered. Doctor McCoy does insist that you are his worst patient," Spock supplied innocently. He could see no point in mentioning the infection at this juncture.

Kirk's eyes hardened for an instant, then softened. "Yes," he breathed, his tone falling somewhere between anger and forgiveness. Spock could see that he was considering belaboring the point, but decided against it. "So, what's our status?" his captain asked. As usual, it was an unwavering dedication to duty that took precedence.

"As I mentioned last night, the warp engines are damaged but repairable. While you were resting I have been consolidating what resources we have and fabricating replacement parts that should enable us to jury-rig the engines to the point that they are warp capable."

"Okay. What can I do to help?"

"In all honesty it would be best if you worked inside the vessel during the day, lest we are covertly observed by people who would take umbrage to our presence here." At this period in their history, Vulcans were extremely mistrustful of that which they did not understand. Spock feared that Kirk would be dispatched on sight as a potentially hostile alien. "I have schematics drawn up inside. It would be advantageous if you could begin scavenging those elements necessary to construct our replacement parts from those systems which will be extraneous during our return journey."

Kirk's look said he wasn't buying it. In fact, it had been pointless to try to conceal the true reasoning behind the request. The _Enterprise's _commanding officer could decipher "Spock-speak" better than anyone in the galaxy. "Gotcha. I'll make myself scarce," his captain said, disappearing into the shuttle's interior.

oooOOOooo

Spock was once again hard at work beneath the tiny craft when he heard footsteps approaching. Careful to continue having the plasma torch emit a solid stream of sparks, he stealthily removed his phaser from his hip and aimed it at the approaching being through the narrow gap between the nacelle and the body of the vessel. Upon closer examination he recognized the youth he had seen the prior evening. A quick visual scan of the area confirmed that the boy was indeed alone.

"Hello?" the child shouted. "I have returned."

Spock holstered the phaser and wriggled out from under the vessel, tugging the protective visor from his face. He stood, eyeing the boy carefully.

"I have returned," the boy reiterated in a small, quavering voice, but his stance was indicative of an insatiable curiosity and an unwavering resolve unusual for one so young.

Spock did not reply, merely gazing coolly at the youngster before his eyes once again searched the uneven terrain for signs of others.

"I am alone, I assure you," the boy said, "just as you requested. I have told no one of your presence here."

"For that, you have my thanks." Spock breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"And where is your companion?" the child asked, eyes roaming over the crash scene. "He didn't…?" The boy's voice trailed off.

"No. He is inside resting. As you were obviously well aware last evening, he is not of this world. He is unaccustomed to the heat, and the atmosphere of his home planet is thicker and richer in oxygen. Due to his injuries, these conditions are affecting him more than they normally would."

"Ah, then he has been on our planet before, in the future, with you," the boy deduced, smiling.

Spock blinked. Despite his age, the child was very astute, and intelligent. Spock would not let his guard down again. "Affirmative," he answered simply.

The boy's look shifted as he digested that information, sucking in his lower lip as he once again attempted to evaluate the veracity of the stranger's words. Spock could easily read the signs of the youngster's internal struggle. Were they truly here by accident, or was there something more sinister at work here? If he kept his word to the stranger and did not raise the alarm, would his people and planet ultimately suffer? It was quite a burdensome decision for one so young. Shaking himself slightly, the boy seemed to have come to some sort of conclusion with regard to the matter.

"I sense only honesty on your part, no deceit or malevolence, and so I will do all in my power to assist you." He puffed out his chest. "I am called—"

"No!" Spock interrupted vehemently. In an attempt to erase the look of dismay that flitted briefly over the boy's face he continued, his voice softer now. "Please understand, I must know as little as possible of this time and its people, lest I inadvertently do something to alter the future." Vulcan history was replete with the names of those who had aided or supported Surak, as well as those who had opposed him. If this child was indeed one of those individuals, regardless of which philosophy the boy supported, he, Spock, must never find out. Such knowledge, and the inevitable contamination that was likely to result, could be cataclysmic. "I shall simply address you as 'Nephew.'"

"Then I shall call you 'Uncle,'" the boy responded with a grin. "Here, Uncle, I have brought something for you and your companion." He sat down, laying a carefully wrapped parcel on the ground before him. Opening it, the boy spread out a cloth on which he laid bread, meat and a bottle of water. "I was uncertain as to whether or not you had adequate provisions."

Spock seated himself as well. "Thank you, Nephew. That was most thoughtful of you." Spock reached for the container of water, unscrewed the lid and offered it to the boy.

"I do not understand," the child remarked, instantly suspicious. "Do you think I have poisoned it? Want me to drink it first to be sure?"

Now it was Spock's turn to look hurt. It was distasteful to him that such were the thoughts of his people at one time; that this kind of behavior and the mistrust it bred were commonplace. Vulcans of his era prided themselves on being the most peaceful race in the galaxy. He was unaccustomed to having his motivations questioned, particularly in this manner. "You misunderstand the gesture. In my time it is customary to offer water to a guest when they first arrive at one's home. This may not be my home per se, but here, you are my guest, and I am only treating you with the respect and courtesy I believe you have earned."

The child's eyes grew wide, his cheeks and the tips of his ears flushing a light green. "I ask forgiveness," he remarked at once. "You may be one of us but you do not think or act like anyone I have ever known. Have our people changed so much in the future?" He then grasped the flask reverently. Raising it to his lips he swallowed solemnly, his eyes never leaving Spock's face.

"We…did what was necessary to survive," Spock answered cryptically.

"But how? When did these changes come about? What were—"

Spock held up a hand to stop the flood of questions. "These things I cannot answer. Without my direct interference, our people will find the wisdom that will put them on the path to survival. I must do nothing to jeopardize this. The fate of our planet depends on my conviction and commitment to protect it."

Again, the boy's brow became creased with a frown. "I don't see how explaining the future to me, or even hearing my name could put that in jeopardy, but I have sworn to assist you, Uncle, and along with that goes a level of trust that you are not lying to me and truly have our planet's best interest at heart." However, despite his efforts to curtail it, ingrained posturing due to the society in which the child lived asserted itself. "Do not make me regret this decision," the boy added, a quiet courage, well beyond his ten years, flashing in his eyes.

Spock took the container from the small hand, which was shaking slightly with rage or fear—he couldn't be sure which—and drank deeply. "On my honor as a Vulcan, and on the life of my friend, I promise you now that we want the same thing."

That seemed to satisfy the child, for he grinned once again, now offering Spock a piece of bread. "I believe you."

oooOOOooo

"No, Commodore," Scott was saying into the square viewer on his desk, "we've no' heard from the captain for almost six hours, an' Vulcan Space Central confirmed that the shuttle left the planet's orbit roughly five hours ago."

"_Could they be having comms problems_?" the head of Starbase Four asked.

"We thought o' that, an' scanned their most likely route back, but found no trace of them. Besides, they shoulda been in communicator range an hour ago, an' we couldna raise them that way, either."

"_If they left five hours ago, they should've been back by now_," the commodore conceded, scratching his chin. "_It wasn't made public, but Captain Kirk and Commander Spock were engaged in a covert operation as well. Transporting Tivan home was only part of their mission. Unfortunately, I'm not at liberty to go into detail as to the nature of that mission, especially over non-secure channels._"

"Uh huh," McCoy grunted. "So in other words, there could be outside forces at work here—as in enemy ships which were desperate to capture or destroy them, and prevent them from completing…whatever this mission was," he finished dourly.

"_Correct, Doctor._"

"Then why weren't they given an escort? Afforded more protection if this mission was so dangerous, and so blasted important?"

"_We didn't want to draw any undue attention to them, alert our enemies that this was something other than the routine transfer of a minor attaché to his home office._"

"So instead you elected to send them into certain danger with their asses hanging out. Sir," McCoy accused hotly, smacking Scotty's desk with his palm.

"_Get a hold of yourself, Doctor. We won't know what we're facing until we have more complete facts. For all we know, this could be due to a simple case of instrument failure: if not comms, then navigation. Either way, we need to find out what happened and retrieve them as soon as possible._"

"You think?" McCoy muttered under his breath.

The commodore consulted a PADD on the desk before him. "_Unfortunately, there are no other ships in the sector available to undertake SAROPS_."

"I know that, sir. That's why I want permission to conduct a search ourselves," Scotty interjected.

"_My thoughts exactly, but the _Enterprise_ is here for repairs, correct Mister Scott_?"

"Aye sir, but they were minor an' are mostly complete. The systems that still need some minor tweakin' won't hamper our ability to conduct a search, or impact our spaceworthiness."

"_Then by all means, Mister Scott, leave as soon as you're ready, and keep us apprised of the situation. I'll do what I can on this end to get you some assistance as soon as possible. They and the shuttle must be found at all costs_."

"We're recallin' all personnel from shore leave now, an' should be ready to depart within the hour."

"You know, it would help if we had an idea of why the enemy might want them," McCoy pressed. "It might give us an idea of where to look, or whom to suspect."

Wolfe's face darkened briefly as he considered the request. Finally he came to a decision of sorts. "_They were couriering sensitive documents back to this base, to be sent on to Earth tomorrow. I'm sorry gentlemen, but that's all the additional information I can provide. So you see, not only do we need to find them, we need to secure the documents as well. I can't stress enough how vital that is_."

"We'll find them, sir," Scott vowed.

"_See that you do. Good luck and Godspeed, gentlemen. Wolfe out_."

Scott and McCoy exchanged glances.

"God dammit, Scotty, it's always something with those two. I don't think the word 'routine' can be applied to anything they do." The surgeon let out a long breath, his eyes focused inward for a moment. "At least, for once, the Brass sees things our way, even if it is more to protect their interests than ours. If it weren't for the circumstances, I'd call this a red-letter day."

"Well, Doctor. Let's hope the search an' rescue is just as easy."

"Amen to that, Scotty," McCoy remarked as both men stood and made for the door.

oooOOOooo

Two thousand years in Vulcan's past, the stranded travelers labored diligently day after day with a single-minded determination. While Kirk remained inside and out of sight of the potentially curious and inimical alike, reconstructing engine parts according to Spock's direction, the Vulcan worked outside the vessel, swapping out damaged parts for the ones they had fabricated. By the third day it became painfully apparent that Kirk was not operating at peak efficiency. He tired easily, appeared to be having difficulty concentrating, and had lost his appetite. But true to his captain's nature Kirk soldiered on, trying to power through the worst of the illness even as his strength continued to fail him, all in an effort, Spock suspected, not to let on just how sick he was. His captain took the daily doses of antibiotics Spock administered without question or complaint. Unfortunately, Spock was unmistakably aware of his captain's deteriorating health. In light of that, he habitually worked through the night, rising after Kirk had fallen into a fevered sleep, desperate to complete the repairs before time ran out for his friend.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: What can I say? Patience is not one of my strong suits, so I'll put two chapters up today and the final two tomorrow.

Just want to say thanks for the positive response to this piece. I so much appreciate everyone taking the time to read, review, favorite and/or follow this story. You guys are awesome! :-D

**Chapter Six**

Over the course of the next few days, the boy was a frequent visitor, arriving in the late afternoon and staying until dusk. He always brought food and water, and had quickly adjusted the menu after the first day. In place of the meat which Spock had not eaten, he now brought fruits and vegetables, as well as cheese, along with the bread and water. As Kirk's condition continued to deteriorate, Spock found that he was grateful for the company. Inexplicably, the boy's presence filled Spock with calm, and peace, and bolstered his steady resolve to repair the shuttle and return to his and the captain's time, if only to ensure that his young friend could then reap the benefits of Surak's reforms later in life.

In his daily talks with his "nephew," Spock had come to learn that the boy was alarmed by the rampant, gratuitous violence and petty infighting that were so prevalent in his culture. The seeds of dissatisfaction were already being sown among the general populace, if one so young had seen fit to question the reckless path the adults in his society were traversing. During their time together, Spock was very careful to listen rather than speak about the planet's current situation. He came to understand that the boy was unable to share these opinions with anyone else in his family; that such ideas simply weren't discussed, or even considered by the majority of Vulcans at this time. Silently he wondered how it would be possible for Surak to begin to change such views only a scant quarter of a century from now.

As the sun was marching toward the horizon on day four of their ordeal, Spock continued his efforts to overhaul the engines of the tiny craft. He spared a glance at Kirk, lying on his back on the ground in the shade of the vessel. His friend's condition had almost reached the critical point. As it stood now, his captain would not survive for another two days. Spock recalled the conversation he'd had with Kirk earlier this morning:

"What's wrong with me, Spock?"

Open. Trusting. Vulnerable. He couldn't lie to that. "You are suffering from an infection which seems to be resistant or immune to the only antibiotics available to us."

"How long do I have?"

Spock paused before answering, feeling a tightness in his chest. He forced it down. He didn't want Kirk to be able to detect the distress in his voice. "I estimate no longer than thirty-nine hours."

"Then we'd better pick up the pace," Kirk answered, sporting but a shadow of his boyish grin, eyes glittering with fever, beads of sweat speckling his forehead like morning dew as he struggled to rise from the open door of the _Galileo's_ hatch where it lay across the port nacelle.

"Jim," Spock's tone was gentle, compassionate, and laced with unmitigated sadness, "you must rest. I shall have repairs completed in twenty-seven point six hours, and do not require your assistance to do so. Please go and lie down."

"I'm fine," Kirk countered, mopping at his brow with a dusty sleeve and settling himself on the ground, back propped against the shuttle's exterior. "I'll just sit here, in case you need me." The captain's eyes drifted closed.

"Very well, sir." At least if he were out here, Spock could continue to monitor his friend's condition. Within minutes Kirk was asleep, snoring softly. Several hours later, Spock gave him another dose of antibiotics. Only one more remained. They weren't eradicating the infection, but might be keeping it at bay. Without further data to go on, Spock surmised that it would certainly do no harm to continue to administer the shots. The Vulcan had briefly roused his friend, getting him to drink some water before the captain settled himself on his back on the ground. Spock tried to convince him he would be more comfortable inside on the cot, but Kirk stubbornly refused to budge. Unwilling to upset his captain and possibly stress his immune system further, Spock relented. In some ways it was comforting. If Kirk should die, he would not do so alone.

The sound of familiar footsteps roused Spock from these dark thoughts. His "nephew" appeared at the top of the rock wall and began picking his way down the steep, narrow path. Spock stood, wiping the grime from his hands with a cloth as the boy approached.

"He's worse today, isn't he?" the boy asked, dropping his gaze to the man lying in the shade of the craft. This was the first time the youngster had seen the mysterious round-eared alien outside of the vessel since that first night.

An hour ago, much to Spock's dismay, the captain had slipped into unconsciousness.

Spock mechanically swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yes," he whispered, closing his eyes briefly.

"Perhaps I could help—bring him medicine if you can tell me what's wrong and what he needs." The boy was gazing at him earnestly.

"Thank you for the kind offer, Nephew, but unfortunately, I do not know that his alien physiology would be able to tolerate such drugs. As with my reasoning behind having him consume only those supplies we brought with us as opposed to any native food or drink, what is a cure for us may prove to be fatal for him."

"Then what will you do?"

"I must complete the repairs and attempt to return us to the future before his body is no longer able to fight the alien pathogen."

"How will you get back to where it is you belong?"

"I shall attempt to use the gravitational pull of the sun to allow our vessel to travel well beyond conventional speeds. If we travel fast enough, it should create a time warp that will propel us into the future."

The child looked skeptical. "That's how you wound up here, isn't it?"

"Affirmative."

"But you told me your presence here was unintentional, an accident. Are you certain you can duplicate those conditions, and that this method will work in reverse?"

"We have done so several times in the past, but never in such a small craft, or one which has suffered such severe damage. However, it stands to reason that if we survived the voyage here, we can survive the voyage home." The boy's face fell upon hearing those words, and for Spock it became imperative to erase the look of misery that had settled there. He tried to reassure the lad.

"We must remove ourselves from this time and place," he stated with conviction. "We do not belong here, he and I. Others are awaiting our return, and will be searching for us. I must try, not only for their sake, but for his." His eyes softening, they drifted to and lingered on the unconscious form of his captain, his friend. "He is suffering from a spreading infection; one that will shortly claim his life unless I am able to facilitate our return to where it is that we belong. My limited supply of medicines is nearly exhausted, and he requires more skilled care than I am able to offer. If we remain here, he will surely die. My only chance to save his life lies in returning him to our time."

"But if you fail, if your vessel burns up in the sun, you will both die."

"That is true," Spock supplied matter-of-factly.

"Then why risk it?" the child argued passionately. "You are one of us, and could easily remain here. No one need know you come from the future."

Spock glanced at the boy, raising an eyebrow. "You know as well as I that that is not possible," he replied gently. He had really grown quite fond of this boy. He allowed that affection to show briefly, for his "nephew" would not understand his emotional detachment. "While I might be able to blend in, it would not take long for my friend to be exposed as an alien, someone not of this world. You yourself have told me of the thirst for vengeance, for violence, of the xenophobia exhibited by those in power. Logically, how do you suppose they would react to him?" He felt the corners of his mouth turn up in the barest of smiles.

The boy quickly glanced down, anger or sorrow—or perhaps a combination of both—caused a splash of green to appear on his face. "I don't care. I don't want you to go!" the boy blurted out forcefully, a tear escaping and making its way down a dirt-smudged cheek. "Maybe you have it all wrong. What of the philosophy of kaiidth—what is, is? Perhaps you were meant to be here, and it is you who will provide a great contribution to our people," the boy maintained, the anxious, youthful blue eyes locking onto Spock's.

"It is more likely that our presence here—that my presence here—will bring about catastrophic changes to the fabric of your history. He and I have faced such a scenario before, with near-disastrous results. It is a risk I simply cannot take. The needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the few, or the one. Can you not see this, and understand?"

The child dropped his eyes, chin trembling. Spock found this strangely upsetting.

"Your departure does seem inevitable," the boy admitted at last, defeated. "When will you go?"

"I shall be able to complete the last of the repairs tomorrow. I shall then wait until nightfall so we can depart under the cover of darkness and hopefully avoid detection."

"Then I'll come back to see you off and wish you luck."

oooOOOooo

"Sir, engines are powered up and ready for warp speed," Sulu announced from the helm. Scott was sitting in the command chair, chin in his fist.

Uhura swiveled around to address him. "Mister Scott, the transporter room reports the last of our crew are on board."

"Thank ye, lass." McCoy was beside the center seat, arms folded across his chest and bouncing nervously on his toes. "Mister Sulu, retract all moorin's an' prepare for departure."

"Retract all moorings, aye sir," came the crisp response. "Moorings clear," he announced a few seconds later.

"Take us out then, helm, one-quarter impulse power."

The great shipped hummed slightly as she began to edge forward, the sides of the spacedock sliding slowly past on the forward viewscreen. "Spacedock cleared," Sulu supplied half a minute later.

"Mister Chekov, I want ye mannin' the sensors at the science station."

Chekov rose to his feet and climbed the two steps to the upper tier of the bridge, hurrying to comply. Leslie slipped into the vacant navigator's seat.

"Helm, warp one. Let's not go so fast that we miss them altogether. Course, two twenty-three mark seven, directly for Vulcan. Chekov, I want the sensors set for the widest sweep possible. Uhura, keep channels open to the _Galileo_ an' to the captain's an' Mister Spock's communicators.

"All right, people," he said to the bridge crew at large, "keep on yer toes an' report anythin' out of the ordinary. Let's make short work o' findin' the captain an' Mister Spock." Lord knows if they were adrift or off course, the shuttle only had a finite amount of fuel and once that was exhausted other important systems, like life support, would begin to fail not long after. He did not need to remind everyone that time was of the essence, and was surely their enemy. A chorus of "aye, sirs" erupted from around the bridge as everyone became absorbed in the task at hand.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Several hours ago he'd installed the last of the replacement parts they'd cobbled together over the last few days and was now programming the boosters to fire automatically. They needed to begin braking at precisely the right moment, lest they overshoot or undershoot their time by years or even centuries, and odds were the G-forces would render him unconscious once again.

Spock had carried his captain inside last evening soon after the boy had left. Kirk still had not regained consciousness. He'd administered the final dose of antibiotics earlier today; at this point there was nothing else he could do for Jim. Everything now depended on getting him back to their time and placing him in McCoy's capable hands.

He spent the remainder of the afternoon eradicating what evidence of their presence he could; he filled in the trenches gouged into the sandy soil by their crash-landing, phasered into oblivion the vegetation and scrub damaged or burned by the _Galileo's_ faulty engines, and rubbed out all traces of their footsteps.

The final details now complete, he headed for the aft compartment, slipped into the chair beside Kirk's bed. His captain's brow was on fire, his breathing rapid and shallow now. It would all be over soon, one way or another. For more than an hour he kept silent vigil over his friend, occasionally wiping the sweat from his captain's forehead, all the while working out the computations for their return trip in his head. As twilight approached Spock strapped the man to the cot, his hand lingering briefly on a gold-clad arm. It went without saying that the trip back through time, should they manage it, would be a bumpy one. The infection was dangerous enough; he didn't want to risk the captain suffering additional injuries should their effort prove successful.

With nothing else left to do, he wandered to the open hatch and sat down to await the arrival of his "nephew." The boy appeared after several minutes. Spock rose to meet him, unprepared for the look of anguish clearly visible on the youngster's face. Spock could not deny that he was apprehensive as well, both at the monumental task looming before him, and for the fate of his young friend—a fate he would never know. He felt a twinge of regret. Only years of rigorous training kept it from showing openly.

Spock watched as the boy gathered himself, took a deep breath and reached for control, chin thrust out stubbornly before him. "As promised, Uncle, I have come to see you off," he said, the young voice wavering slightly.

"As I knew you would."

The boy handed Spock a bottle of water. He opened it and handed it back to the youth, who accepted it, took a healthy swallow, and returned it to the tall stranger. Spock sipped at it as well as a look of understanding passed between them.

"Your friend…?" the child began, unable to finish the sentence.

"He lives, but will not survive for much longer. It is now paramount that I return him to our time."

"How soon will you go?" the boy asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"It will be dark enough to make the attempt in twelve minutes, but before we depart, I would ask one final thing of you."

The boy's face lit up with expectation. "What? Whatever it is I will do it gladly."

"You must promise me that you will never speak of our presence to anyone, or of our vessel or of the technology you have seen. The fate of your world may depend on your silence." And yet, in the back of his mind Spock knew that even if the boy should find it necessary to recount the events he had experienced in the desert, without concrete proof and given his youth, the child's stories would likely be dismissed.

There was always the option to mind meld with the boy and wipe the memories from his "nephew's" mind, but Spock could not bring himself to do so. Over the last five days the boy had proven his trustworthiness. Besides, there was always a chance that he, Spock, would see something in the boy's mind that was better left unknown. He was confident that his and Kirk's presence here had not somehow altered this timeline, and all would be as it should.

"You have my word on my honor as a Vulcan, Uncle," the child vowed fervently. "However, I shall miss you and will think of you often."

"And I you," Spock admitted sincerely. "Your beliefs on life and peace are sound, regardless of the current views harbored by your society. In every revolution there is one man with a vision. Do not lose sight of yours, Nephew, and do all that you can to see it realized."

"I won't, for you have given me the hope and inspiration that others have not; you have supported me where others only provided ridicule, and I will never forget that, or you." With a stifled sob, the boy launched himself at Spock, hugging him tightly about the waist. Spock was nearly bowled over as the kaleidoscope of his "nephew's" conflicting emotions assaulted him through the tactile contact.

Unsure of how to respond, Spock merely caressed the small, dark head, drawing the child to arm's length after a moment and dropping to one knee so they were now eye to eye. "And now we must depart. I wish to thank you for the assistance you provided during our time here. In many ways, it was instrumental." He raised his hand in the traditional Vulcan salute. "Peace and long life to you, Nephew."

The child imitated the unfamiliar gesture, spreading the fingers of his one hand with the other, forcing his hand to mirror Spock's symbol. "And to you, Uncle. And luck—that your plan to return to your own time works, and that others will be able to save the life of your friend once you do get back."

Spock rose to his feet, and with a final squeeze to the boy's bony arms, he turned and disappeared inside the shuttle, thumbing the switch to close the hatch.

oooOOOooo

The bridge crew was exhausted, most running on adrenaline and a ceaseless supply of caffeine. The majority of personnel from alpha shift had worked steadily for twenty-four hours, only leaving for four hours of rest when McCoy ordered it, saying odds were if they were too tired they'd miss something.

Earlier today the _Lexington_ had joined them, allowing each vessel to deviate farther from the projected course the shuttle would have taken, but still the search had turned up nothing.

Ten hours into the search on the first day, Chekov had picked up a faint warp trail, possibly generated by a shuttlecraft, but it had ended abruptly, as if the vessel that had made it had simply winked out of existence. Vulcan Space Central had provided what assistance they could, exhaustively scanning and rescanning the atmosphere and planet, searching for signs they may have missed, but again could find no evidence that the _Galileo_ had burned up in the skies above or crash-landed somewhere on the surface below.

Scotty focused their attention at the point where Chekov's warp trail ended, convinced they hadn't been taken by hostile forces. Despite what the commodore had said, there was simply no evidence to support such a theory. Vulcan was located well within Federation space. Even if their enemies had managed to find a way to hide an entire vessel and had ventured so far into Federation territory, the craft would still have to generate some form of propulsive signature they'd be able to track. He was not given to the random paranoia occasionally exhibited by those in the upper echelons of Command. To his mind, the fact that his captain and the first officer had been transporting sensitive documents was just coincidental.

He couldn't explain it, but Scott was certain the answer revolved around the spot where the trail disappeared. He ordered that the _Enterprise's _search pattern consist of ever-widening concentric circles around that point while the _Lexington_ continued to sweep back and forth over the _Galileo's_ projected course from Vulcan to Starbase Four. Neither provided any additional clues as to the shuttle's whereabouts.

"It's been nearly two days, Scotty. What are the chances that their life support system is still functioning?"

Scott glanced up into the worried blue eyes of the CMO. The doctor had also been on the bridge for the majority of the search, pacing and chewing his thumbnail mostly. "It's no' lookin' good, but I'm not ready to throw in the towel yet. After all, if anyone could figure out how to extend the life of their fuel an' keep essential systems functionin', it's Mister Spock."

"Mister Scott, no signs detected during this sweep, either," Chekov reported, his voice frustrated, defeated, mirroring the somber mood pervading the bridge.

"Acknowledged, lad. Mister Leslie," Scott remarked, addressing the substitute navigator, "increase our position by one parsec an' continue the circular path around the end location of Chekov's warp trail. Mister Sulu, engage when ready."

"Aye, aye sir," both men at the helm answered immediately, their fingers flying over their consoles as they hurried to fulfill the request.

McCoy leaned close to the command chair. "Scotty, realistically how much longer can we keep this up?" he asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Until someone orders me to stop," came the determined reply.

oooOOOooo

As the _Galileo _escaped Vulcan's atmosphere, Spock breathed a sigh of relief. They had not been detected. He set a course for the interior of the solar system, straight for Vulcan's sun. As the gravitational pull increased, he engaged the warp engines. It would just be moments now. The craft began to shake in earnest, the light from Eridani streaming intensely through the viewports. Spock dialed the filter to maximum and the glare eased somewhat.

Current speed was now in excess of warp ten as the craft skimmed above the surface of the sun, hull temperature now off the charts, interior temperature hovering around 47 degrees Centigrade. Another few seconds and the vessel was sure to fly itself apart. Spock abruptly changed course, veering 180 degrees away from the sun in an effort to wrench the _Galileo_ away from the pull of Eridani's gravity. As he did so the G-forces increased, his vision going dark. He was unsure if the boosters had fired before the world around him ceased to exist.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

"Mister Scott, message coming in from Starfleet."

A hush fell over the bridge as Scott and McCoy exchanged glances. This was bound to be the call everyone had been dreading for the past several hours.

"Put it on screen, lass," the Scotsman said at last, his voice defeated. If the Brass was going to order him to call off the search, he wanted to make sure it wouldn't be an easy decision. That they saw the effect it would have on those crewmembers who had been frantically looking for their command team to the exclusion of all else for the last two days.

"Aye, sir. Switching," Uhura said, fighting back tears.

The face of Commodore Wolfe appeared on the central viewer, wiping out the blackness of space that had been there moments before.

"_Mister Scott, anything to report_?"

"No sir, we've no' found a trace of the _Galileo_ yet."

"_I see_." The admiral paused, rubbing a hand over his face. "_And the _Lexington?"

"They've found nothin' either, sir, according to their last report three hours ago."

"_Any evidence of foul play? That the shuttle was commandeered or destroyed by enemy fire_?"

"No. We've been pursuin' the faint warp trail we found yesterday, which we believe was made by the shuttlecraft, but all attempts to pick up that trail have been fruitless. It's as if the _Galileo_ just vanished into thin air."

"_We've picked up no chatter on the intel nets that would indicate our enemies had anything to do with _Galileo's _disappearance, so now the question becomes can they still be alive? Even if they'd powered down the engines to conserve fuel, life support systems would only have been able to function for, at most, twenty-eight hours. We're twelve hours beyond that—"_

"Mister Scott!" Chekov interrupted, barely able to contain his excitement. "Something has just appeared on my sensors one-half parsec from here!"

"Explain."

"Is it the shuttle?" McCoy interjected.

"I vas monitoring that section of space, and there vas nothing there, sir, and then this object appeared as if it dropped in out of thin air."

"Readings!" the Scotsman snapped.

"Definitely the _Galileo_, sir. Two life signs aboard—one human, one Vulcan, both unconscious."

"Sulu, get to those coordinates on the double!" Scott slapped his hand down on the intercom of the command chair. "Transporter room," he did not wait for a response, "We've located the shuttle. Lock onto Chekov's coordinates an' prepare to beam the captain an' Mister Spock aboard."

"_Aye, sir._"

McCoy had been in motion as well. He bounded up the stairs to Uhura's station, but she was a step ahead of him. "Sickbay on the line, sir," she informed him, a smile on her face for the first time in over a day, although a tear trickled slowly down her cheek, "corpsman Reynolds."

"Reynolds, get a trauma team and two crash carts to the transporter room stat. I'll meet them there." He ran for the turbolift, not waiting for an answer.

"_Mister Scott!" _the commodore bellowed in order to be heard above the chaotic din that had erupted on the bridge, his face still on the central viewer. "_What is going on? I demand to know!_"

"We'll let ye know as soon as we know anythin' fer sure, sir. In the meantime…" He turned to Uhura. "End transmission, lass," he whispered hoarsely.

"With pleasure, sir," she responded, flipping a switch. The viewscreen returned to an image of open space, a tiny, gray object now visible at the center.

"Chekov," Scott said, "what's the status of the shuttle?"

"Intact, sir, life support systems functioning normally, fuel level at one-quarter."

"Sulu," Scott said, turning to the helmsman. "Once we're on station I want ye to beam over an' bring the _Galileo _home. Uhura, notify the hangar deck to prepare to recover the shuttlecraft."

"Aye, sir."

"Mister Scott," Sulu interjected, "we're now 1,500 kilometers from the shuttle. All engines stopped."

"Well done, lad, now get to the transporter room." Sulu rose from his seat and headed for the turbolift. Lieutenant DePaul took over the vacant position at the helm.

Scott activated the intercom on the command chair again. "Transporter room."

"_Transporter room here, sir._"

"Are ye ready, an' is the doctor there yet?"

"_Awaiting your signal, Mister Scott. Doctor McCoy just arrived, and so did the trauma team_."

"Energize, Mister Kyle."

oooOOOooo

McCoy found he was holding his breath as the transporter hummed to life. Within seconds, two prone figures materialized on the pad. He raced for the platform, scanner in hand. "They're alive," he announced momentarily. "Spock is unconscious, but the captain's condition is more serious than that." He glared at the orderlies, gesturing to the two motionless men. "Well, come on. Get them on the gurneys and get them to sickbay, stat. Kyle," he said, eyes never leaving the captain, "notify Doctor M'Benga that we're on the way. Tell him to have sickbay ready." With that he and the gurneys were gone.

oooOOOooo

"Transporter room, what's happenin'?" A moment of silence ensued, followed by unintelligible voices in the background. "Kyle, report," Scott said again, more urgently this time.

"_They're on board, sir, and they're both alive_." A spontaneous cheer erupted from the bridge crew. Another brief pause. "_Doctor McCoy and the trauma team just left. They're on their way to sickbay_."

"Acknowledged. Send Sulu over to the shuttle as soon as he arrives."

"_Aye, sir_."

"Scott out." He shifted his attention to the communications station. "Lieutenant Uhura, get Commodore Wolfe back on the line. Tell him they're alive, we're in the process of recoverin' the shuttle, an' I'll give a more comprehensive update as soon as I know anythin'. Mister Leslie, plot a course back to Starbase Four. Mister DePaul, engage when ready, warp three. I'll be in sickbay." The acting-captain rose to his feet. "Chekov, you have the conn. Notify me when the _Galileo_ is aboard," was the last thing anyone heard as the servos fired, closing the turbolift doors behind him.

oooOOOooo

M'Benga was waiting when they arrived, along with a number of corpsman and nurses on the sickbay staff. The African doctor immediately took charge of Spock, while McCoy had the captain moved to the main diagnostic bed. The dials and gauges sprang to life as the unconscious form of Kirk was settled there. They showed increased respiration and poor oxygenation which would eventually lead to multiple organ failure. Kirk's heart rate was also elevated as it fought to pump a greater volume of blood in an effort to make up for the decreased level of oxygen it was able to carry.

McCoy frowned openly at the readings, muttering a mild oath under his breath. They revealed a fairly advanced state of sepsis, one that had been brewing for at least four days and had settled in his bloodstream, affecting the performance of all of Kirk's organs in general but putting a strain on his liver and kidneys in particular as they struggled to filter out the harmful strain of bacteria untouched by the captain's leukocytes. It just didn't make sense, he fumed, administering a dose of a strong antibiotic, followed shortly by a blast of triox. The two men had been missing for just over forty hours, and had been confined to the shuttle. Just where had Jim managed to be exposed to the unknown pathogen that appeared to be hell bent on ending his life? And why was Spock seemingly unaffected?

"Nurse," he barked at Chapel. "Get the captain on a portable respirator, get a blood sample and get it analyzed as soon as possible. I need to know what I'm dealing with."

"Yes, sir," she answered as she reached for a blood tube.

Kirk was still critical, but not in immediate danger. McCoy turned his attention to the other patient in the room.

"Geoff?" he asked M'Benga who was examining the Vulcan, scanner in hand.

"He's just unconscious. No signs of trauma or injury, either physical or psychological. A mild stimulant should bring him around."

"Then do it. Maybe he can shed some light on what's going on with Jim." A hypo hissed against the Vulcan's arm and his eyes fluttered open.

"Spock, it's me," McCoy said, bending over the bed so he was in the Vulcan's line of sight. "We found you in the shuttle, and you and Jim are back aboard the ship, in sickbay."

"The captain—" Spock started, pushing himself up on his elbows.

A gentle hand halted his progress. "He's stable for the moment, but we need to get his infection under control." A beat, as his eyes zeroed in on the dark, hooded ones. "What happened, Spock? How the hell did he get so sick in less than two days when you were in the shuttle the whole time? And I know you're not a doctor, but I can't believe you didn't see what was going on. Why didn't you give him something?"

At that instant Scott burst into sickbay. Spock turned his attention to the engineer. "We were caught in the gravitational pull of a small, rogue black hole. Instruct Mister Chekov to monitor for it. We must be certain its trajectory does not carry it too near Vulcan, or that the _Enterprise_ is not in danger of being engulfed."

"We've been searchin' for ye for two days, and there was no sign of it. It musta moved out of the area by now." Scott was still perplexed. "Did it drag ye off course? Is that why we couldna find ye, or track yer warp trail?"

"Not precisely, no. At present, the circumstances surrounding our disappearance are unimportant. There are more urgent matters at hand. What is the status of the _Galileo_?"

"She's intact. I sent Sulu over to bring her home," Scott informed him.

"You will find a sealed diplomatic packet on board which the captain and I were returning to Starbase Four. It will need to be secured until we arrive at that destination."

"I'll get Giotto on it right away, sir." Scott stepped away from the group. He could be heard softly issuing orders over the nearest comm unit before he hurried from the room.

McCoy focused his attention on Spock once again, who was now sitting on the edge of the biobed. "You still haven't answered my question, Mister Spock—how did Jim get so sick so quickly?"

"We may have only been gone from this time period for two days, but we were trapped for five days in Vulcan's past."

"What?" McCoy asked incredulously. He shifted his gaze to M'Benga. "I thought you said there was no mental trauma, Geoff. Sounds to me like he's not operating on all thrusters. Are you sure there's nothing disturbing those mathematically perfect brainwaves?"

Spock interrupted before M'Benga could respond. "I assure you, Doctor, my faculties are intact. When we endeavored to escape the pull of the black hole we were thrust into a time warp. Given that the craft was so small, we were unable to tolerate the G-forces. While our similar encounter aboard the _Enterprise_ eighteen months ago resulted in us being propelled 300 years into Earth's past, since we were in the vicinity of Vulcan in this instance, and given the fact that the captain and I were both rendered unconscious and were therefore unable to slow the vessel's progress, we traveled a total of 2.015 millennia into Vulcan's past."

"Is that possible? How is that possible?" McCoy wanted to know.

"Irrelevant, since we did survive such an ordeal. The pathogen infecting the captain's blood is over 2,000 years old, and one to which he obviously does not have a natural immunity. It is also quite possible that conventional or contemporary antibiotics will prove ineffective in combating it. During our time there I did treat the captain with the only antibiotic available in the medikit on board, but it failed to inhibit the spread of the infection."

"I've already got the lab analyzing a blood sample," McCoy informed him. "That should give us the answer. And I dosed him with the strongest antibiotic I have. Hopefully that will get things started."

"But that might not be enough, or provide us with the answer soon enough." This from M'Benga. "Mister Spock's right—antibiotics that are effective against earthborn pathogens, or ones that can be safely administered to a variety of species might not be able to destroy this particular bacterium. Odds are it will require a highly specific antibiotic."

"But we'll need to be careful—Jim's system may be unable to tolerate the alien drugs. They may have just as much of a chance of killing him as the organism itself," McCoy reasoned. His forehead became peppered with beads of cold sweat. Jim's life could very well depend on what they did next.

"I'll contact Vulcan—I still have some colleagues there in the ward where I interned—and see what they recommend. They can at least start piecing together a list of drugs that would be safe for Captain Kirk until we have the results of the blood culture. Analysis on our part to find out which antibiotics would be effective, or which the pathogen is resistant to, could take upwards of twenty-four hours."

"Just make it fast, Geoff. Jim doesn't have twenty-four hours," McCoy growled. "Let's just hope they've seen this strain of bacteria before, or at least one similar to it. If they haven't, God help us." _This might finally turn out to be the one thing I simply can't fix_, he said to himself. He raked a hand angrily through his hair. Damn Kirk. Why did it always have to be him? Just which one of the three Fates had Jim managed to piss off, anyway? That man and his pointy-eared sidekick were going to give him ulcers for sure before this five-year mission was out.

The doctor glanced over his shoulder at the prone form on the diagnostic bed. During the exchange between the two physicians Spock had wandered over and was now standing at Kirk's bedside, gazing down at his captain, spine rigid, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

"I know," M'Benga conceded softly, his eyes following McCoy's. "All we can do now is trust that the healers on Vulcan can provide us with the answer we need." He hurried toward his office.

McCoy crossed the space to come to stand beside the Vulcan, bouncing on his toes slightly. "Don't worry, Spock. We still have about four hours before things get really dicey. You kept up your end of the bargain by getting him back here. I'll be damned if I'm gonna drop the ball after all of that. We'll find the answer, I swear."

Spock merely turned to regard the CMO, an eyebrow on the rise, his features neutral, but a flicker of doubt skittered past behind the dark eyes. The whistle of the intercom sliced through the silence like a skilfully wielded lirpa. "_Scott to Mister Spock_."

The Vulcan moved toward the desk and opened the channel. "Spock here; go ahead Mister Scott."

"_The shuttle is aboard an' Giotto has secured the diplomatic pouch. We're presently on course for Starbase Four an' should be there within the hour_."

"Understood. You have the conn Mister Scott. Notify me once we reach the base. Spock out." Without a word or a sideways look he crossed the room, pulled up a chair and sat beside Kirk's bed. McCoy understood immediately. His hand found a narrow shoulder and squeezed briefly before he turned and headed for the lab. Currently out of options, the CMO's next course of action involved lighting a fire under some technician's ass.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: And so we come to the end. Hope it didn't disappoint. Yesterday I was hit with an idea for a sequel to this that will tie into the episode 'The Enterprise Incident.' We'll see if anything comes of it. ;-) Thank you again for reading, reviewing and/or favoriting this piece-after all, feedback is what drives my virtual pen.

**Chapter Nine**

The buzzer to his cabin sounded, drawing his attention from the viewer on his desk. He switched it off. "Come," he called softly.

Kirk entered at his usual frenetic pace. Spock made a motion to rise but Kirk waved him back into his seat. The captain stopped before his desk, taking in the pile of multi-colored record tapes stacked neatly beside the computer interface. "Spock," he began, "Am I disturbing you?"

"Negative; please have a seat, Captain."

Kirk settled into the chair opposite his first officer.

"You look well, Jim."

Three days ago the lab had isolated the bacteria just over one hour after they had been given the sample. M'Benga consulted with the healers on Vulcan, and two hours later they provided him with the ingredients for an antibiotic cocktail which would both kill the pathogen and be compatible with Kirk's human physiology. Twenty-four hours after administering the first dose, Kirk regained consciousness, his Vulcan and human friends at his bedside. Spock merely gazed at his captain with a quiet satisfaction, but McCoy's relief manifested in quite another way: "You see what I mean, Jim? You two can't even do something as innocuous as ferrying a diplomat home without trouble finding you..."

Two days after that—this morning, in fact—Kirk had been released from sickbay after McCoy found he could stomach no more of Kirk's constant needling. The captain would need to be on the medication for another seven days, and still wasn't medically cleared to resume duty on the bridge for two more days. For now, handling routine paperwork from the relative quietude of his quarters entailed the extent of his responsibilities. Spock could see it was already beginning to wear on his captain. Kirk was a man of action, not one given to sitting. He looked as if he'd jump out of his skin at any moment.

"Yeah, well, someone needs to tell Bones that. He's been hovering over me all day like an Arcturian vampire bat, and sucking about as much blood from me, too. That's part of why I'm here—hopefully he won't be able to track me down."

"Jim, it is necessary. We must monitor the progress of the medication to ensure that it continues to be effective against the pathogen."

Kirk scrunched up his face. "I understand that. Doesn't mean I have to like it." He softened the delivery with an apologetic grin.

"Then perhaps you need a distraction, Captain."

"I thought you'd never ask. What do you have in mind—some sparring in the gym, a few laps around the outer ring of the saucer section?" Kirk's expression was hopeful.

Spock sighed inwardly. He really hadn't expected anything else. "Nothing quite so physical, Captain—it would be disadvantageous at this time to tax your immune system. I thought perhaps some intellectual stimulation would suffice." He rose to his feet and retrieved the chessboard from the shelf behind him, placing it on his desk.

"Again, not my first choice but I'll take what I can get," Kirk replied as he began setting up the pieces.

They fell into an easy rhythm, discussions of ship's business giving way to more personal conversation as the game progressed.

"I did it for your mother, you know," Kirk said offhandedly, not meeting Spock's eyes as he captured a belligerent knight with a bishop.

"And she appreciated the gesture," Spock replied just as casually as a rook dropped two levels, placing Kirk's king in check. The ensuing silence attested to the fact that neither man had been fooled.

"You know, I've thought a lot about what you said in the shuttle," Kirk said after a minute as the offending rook was done in by the captain's queen. "And you were right." Hazel eyes met the dark ones. "I can't call you on the carpet for something I'm guilty of myself."

"Indeed?" The raised eyebrow spoke volumes: I am pleased that you have reached this conclusion, Captain, although somewhat surprised that you would so freely admit it. Can I now expect a more responsible approach to dangerous situations from you?

The silent comment was not lost on Kirk. "And as it seems that neither of us is going to change anytime soon, we should both agree to be more careful, if not for ourselves then for the sake of those around us."

"That is always my intention, Captain."

"Somehow, your good intentions and stark reality don't always mesh, Spock."

They were interrupted by the insistent buzz of the door chime. Someone seemed to be trying to shove the button right through the bulkhead. "Spock, are you in there? I can't find Jim anywhere."

"He is here. Please enter, Doctor."

The look Kirk bestowed on his first officer could have triggered a supernova.

McCoy burst into the room in a huff. "Jim, where the hell have you been? It's time for your next blood draw."

Kirk's voice was pure silk over the softest cashmere. "I swear to God, Bones, if you stick me one more time I'll blow myself out of the nearest disposal chute into the vacuum of space."

"Seriously? You don't need to be so melodramatic." The doctor sighed, puffing out his cheeks. "Well, I suppose I could just use the scanner to see if the level of the organism in your blood is continuing to drop, but an actual sample tells me—"

"Am I likely to drop dead in the next ten minutes without one?" Kirk interrupted.

"Well, no, but—"

"Then just do a scan, please. I'm starting to feel like an Edosian dartboard."

"Okay, okay. It's your funeral." The scanner materialized in the physician's hand as if it had been plucked from thin air. "You know, you don't need to be such a wuss," the doctor intoned, scanner whirring steadily.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Playing cat and mouse with Romulans doesn't faze you, you pick fights with mugatos and giant reptiles and then try to beat them to a pulp with your bare hands, and you don't even blink when letting a highly advanced, scare-me-half-outta-my-wits, non-corporeal energy being borrow your body, but someone tries to take a little blood and all of a sudden you get as freaked out as a tribble in a room full of Klingons. Just seems kinda weird…and wussy."

Kirk's head snapped up at that, fury seething just below the surface, but the cunning gleam in the doctor's eyes, the devilish grin on the surgeon's face brought forth a belly laugh instead.

McCoy chuckled as well. "Okay, Jim I get it. The levels are still decreasing, so we'll cut the blood draws to every two days unless scans indicate we need to do otherwise. Friends again?"

"Do I have a choice?" Kirk countered.

"C'mon, how long do you think you can stand to be without this bundle of Southern charm?"

"Don't tempt me."

McCoy managed to look hurt. "You'll miss me the next time shore leave rolls around. Who'll you go bar-hopping with—that guy?" he asked, pointing at Spock. "That'll be about as much fun as a burst appendix."

"Quite preferable to being subjected to a constant stream of your mindless chatter, Doctor," the Vulcan quipped.

"At least my 'mindless chatter' doesn't revolve around mnemonic memory circuits, proper database management and the latest software updates."

"Which in this case is most advantageous—one can only imagine the sheer illogic the ship's computers would spew forth if you were responsible for their programming and maintenance."

"Well, at least they'd have a sense of humor."

"Yes, an ideal quality to possess when tasked with making life-or-death decisions."

"Now wait just a damn minute—" McCoy began hotly, eyes flashing as he waggled a shaking finger at the imperturbable first officer.

"At ease, gentlemen," Kirk interrupted, chuckling and waving his hands in surrender. "I'm just starting to recover from one life-threatening battle; I don't need to be thrust into the middle of another one."

McCoy clamped his lips closed on his vitriolic retort, but continued to glare menacingly at the Vulcan. Spock merely gazed back with cool, detached disinterest.

The doctor visibly quelled his desire to continue the argument, turning his attention to Kirk instead. "But seriously, Jim, glad you're on the mend."

"I know you are, Bones. Thanks for pulling me back from the brink—again—and thank _you_, Spock, for figuring out the solution to our 'problem' and getting me back here so McCoy could work his magic."

Spock acknowledged that comment with a raised eyebrow, a slight dip of the head.

And yet it was McCoy, as ever, who couldn't hold his tongue. "Just ease up on the adventures for once, okay Jim?"

"Seems to me it's not like I always have a choice. Once again, not my fault this time."

"Agreed, but when you do have control over a situation you could just take half a second to evaluate it instead of charging in with guns blazing and that cocksure Achilles complex of yours," McCoy pointed out.

"Sound medical advice. I'll remember to do that next time a black hole or an ancient alien superbug tries to eat me alive," Kirk retorted facetiously.

"Good Lord, there's just no pleasing some people," McCoy answered just as tetchily. He switched gears. "Well, Jim, I should go—we still need to catalogue and stow the latest batch of supplies we got from Starbase Four. Right now, everything's sitting on pallets in the middle of my office, and you know how cranky I get when things are in disarray."

Spock cleared his throat at the comment, to which McCoy replied with an ominous look, just daring the Vulcan to say something. Spock thought better of it, for Jim's sake if nothing else.

"Well, I'll leave you two to your game," McCoy said, eyes returning to Kirk before they flicked to the board on Spock's desk. "Just see to it that you don't do anything more strenuous than this for the next few days, and be in sickbay at 0800 sharp tomorrow for another scan."

"Scout's honor," Kirk replied.

"Yeah, right, like you were ever a Boy Scout," McCoy muttered under his breath as he turned to leave.

As the door closed behind the surgeon, the two men focused on the game once again. It was Kirk who broke the silence. "Some adventure. I really don't remember a whole lot about our time there, especially toward the end." Kirk's look turned mischievous. "Remind me to stay away from Vulcan in the future," he joked. "Seems it's bad for my health."

His captain was not the only one who was well-versed in doublespeak. Spock let that understanding shine in his eyes for a moment. Kirk grinned his approval. It seemed both men were continuing to make progress with respect to banishing their demons.

Kirk's look became serious now. "I do remember that a young boy was helping us somehow. Did you ever find out who he was?"

"Negative. I would not even allow him to tell me his name. The names of all of those individuals who were instrumental during the time of the Reformation are well-documented in Vulcan history. I did not want to take the chance that by knowing his identity, if he were to become one of the prominent figures later in life, that I would somehow influence that, and perhaps irrevocably alter my planet's future."

"A logical choice, as always Mister Spock. It merely seems a pity that we'll never know who he was, or what happened to him."

"Affirmative, sir."

"That's checkmate, by the way," Kirk finished, hemming in Spock's king with a remaining knight and his queen. "Thanks for the distraction." He rose to his feet. "Well, now that I finally got Bones to stop using me as a phlebotomist's practice dummy I'd best be off, and let you get back to…," his eyes fell to the pile of tapes, "…whatever it is you were doing."

Spock stood as well. "Goodnight, Jim. I shall see you in the morning."

Kirk turned and made for the door. As it swished closed, Spock reseated himself and activated the viewer once again. He too had been plagued by an irrational need to know the boy's identity, as if that would somehow alleviate his concern as to what had become of his young friend. The boy had been dissatisfied with the course his society was taking. It was only logical to assume that he had supported the revolution, but as to whether or not his "nephew" had been an instrumental figure, or one of the tens of thousands killed in the skirmishes leading up to the Enlightenment, Spock could only speculate. Certain that he would be unable to discover the answer he had nevertheless called up numerous holos from the ship's database of those individuals who had had a hand in changing his planet's fate. He'd reverse-aged each one in turn, shocked when at last the face of the mysterious youth materialized before him. Kaiidth, indeed. Even then, the boy had been wise beyond his years.

It was fortuitous that he hadn't known who the child was, or wiped the boy's mind clean of the time they had spent together. This knowledge did put into perspective for him some of the more ambiguous elements of Vulcan history, however. It was said that during his forty days of fasting and meditating in the desert the solution to Vulcan's ills had come to the father of modern Vulcan culture in a dream: a nameless, faceless stranger had told him non-emotion was the key to the planet's salvation. Spock was stunned. Although he had never mentioned the philosophy outright, the child was quite perceptive. The boy had kept his word, for he had not divulged the true nature of the events he had experienced during his childhood in the desert. Spock's eyes drifted to the computer screen once again. The face gazing back at him was that of a ten-year-old Surak.


End file.
